THIS IS A COLLECTION OF SHORT POEMS UNDER A SINGLE TITLE
XLII. i've romanticized glass
as black liquid
which remains the poison of the human mind.
some say, only despair shall be found in nothingness.
how could such a thing be?
when nothingness is the essence of possibility,
to those who remain with a purpose.
What did you think when you read that? What did you feel? Even if it was the most unintelligible scene or incomprehensible nonsense, tell me, please. I'd like to know.