THIEF-WRINKLES

On the ladder of our years, it is just another insignificant, symbolic gesture, the unworthy web of our wrinkles. He paints voiceless, silent incisions, draws encrypted hieroglyphic figures on maps of talkative faces. The ever-thinning heartbeats are waiting for the last time to beat again, permanently.

Oh, but there can no longer be two hands shaking for each other, facing an uncertain future at all costs. It's gone. Pondering on the memory bones of withered universes is useless. Even so, two talkative pairs of deer-eyes, like diminutive shooting stars on the dark-mass tapestry of the horizon, would open the secrets of the selfish stubborn heart.

In tired bodies biological age gnaw, gnawing at New insidious worms. The extended distance also testifies to confidential togetherness. -On the petals of former exotic beauties, Today botox s collagen masses are produced. From the former recalled, kind face could only remain a crumbling ruin?!

Why was it not allowed to grow old with dignity and stoic nobility?! Wounds can no longer endure excruciating delirium or prodigal loneliness. The hieroglyphs of injuries in both connected souls warn again and again of the accelerating time. Both of them, with intent and murderous stubbornness, were silent into ourselves. What else can we expect from the existence that has continually betrayed and deceived them?

Beating heart breaks become a single layer of indifference, apathetic doomsday boredom. The incessant, immortal feeling for one another has still beneficially infected the sacred chalices of their morality. Moving forward can only be important and thoughtful if they dare to act together, even faithfully in the destructive, self-imposed death.

Lost, tired happiness can't be measured, but maybe it can be replaced. In two trembling hands, two blessed hearts sighing for romance. And why all living wounded and fallible echoing kisses will measure their own values with an immortal message!