deepundergroundpoetry.com

What about life?

�
And then I was at the balcony on the first floor �
and I was thinking that I could see it all, �
and then on the second and then on the third floor �
still thinking I had seen it all. �
�
And now I�m at the balcony of the last floor �
no more to go further, no way to go back. �
�
Nobody thinks that he had a life well lived, �
complaints and i-tears ringing everyday �
from homeless emotions to real and not virtual explosions. �
�
Why my hair is not curly enough? �
Why my eyes are brown and not blue? �
Why I�m fat and not Celine Dion? �
�
Why the sea is eating new born babies �
and not eating me or you or our clones � �
for being the culpable of this no life lived anti-poem? �
�
I will remember all the fucks I have had before I gοt here �
it will not be difficult, it just happened once, �
I like to say �all� when I talk about monad �
it tickles all the virgin stuff I curry on me. �
I renounce the rest, my whole wasn�t there. �
�
Music for the deaf and a drawing of Miro for the blind �
money for nobody and sex bombs for everybody, �
that would define a �life well lived �
but definitions are to be and should be destroyed �
along with whatever can shoot �
except the penis, the vagina �
and the adorably romantic and colorful parachute. �
�
�
They say that trying something once �
feels like you never tried it. �
�
And I�m asking continuously �
�
�what about life?� �
�
And I�m asking from the last floor �
�
�what about life?� �
�
And I�m asking with my eyes full of darkness �
�
�what about life?� �
�
And then, I stop asking. �
�
�
�
�
�
***Written for the comp "A well lived life" for Grace.

Written by Artemios

Published 8th Feb 2016 | Edited 10th Feb 2016

All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.