To psychiatrists

in poetry •  6 years ago 

They dance over the corpse of a new hope
and choke the remains of our sanity
in white sheets
It is time to be plain
and run towards nothingness
It is time to fornicate the apathy
and to be abyss

God- Sertraline, celebrate my metamorphosis
Demons-Voices, lick the wounds that bleed prayers
Leprosy- Insomnia, burn my ashes with
the throbbing of the gravestone

I scream in silence
No more pain!
No more poetry!

Illustration Alberto Martini
Alberto Martini.jpg

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