No-one told me how fragile is happiness.
How irreplaceable it was.
None told me how easy it was, to get convicted of a crime so beautiful,
A crime not meant to be one.
I knew my whole life,
From as an infant to this day of much heartbreak,
How lovely everything could be.
And how all could fall apart, so quickly.
I feel as a knife is on my throat.
A knife which only seems to be pressing its body
More and more seriously, as each second passes.
The life I strive to build so miserably
Seems to be slipping out of my hands,
In front of me.
I cannot do anything about it but to write my poetry.
Honestly, it’s driving me crazy.
- November 9th of 2024.
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