pickle

Sitting in my bed
With 2 eyes projected into
Space
I cannot reach it this very moment
They leave something out of it
They leave something very important
And I cannot
Write it down
Though I feel it
Something is missing, but what?
I feel no present neither existent neither being
It’s like a big continuous scam
and I’m the central victim
of this con show
how long it can goes on? a year?50 years? tomorrow?
………………………………………………………….
I’m trapped as a pickle in a jar buried inside a mountain
And what is the crow outside my window crying about?
Oh, yes, ”there is no escape!”
At least she’s sincere
Everyone else lied about everything
That’s the plot of one’s life
flowers watered by boiled rain
useless maneuvers toward happiness