the mind without ink of thoughts

the fear of death not in the physical but subconsious

THERE IS A WINDOW ON THE SEVENTH FLOOR, A SUNRISE MADE OF GLASS;

EVERY TIME I LOOK DOWN AT THE GROUND BELOW,

I SEE THE DOVES,

I SEE THE WATER AND THE SAND.

A PAINTER WOULD SAY A BIT OF RED WAS MISSING.

SOMETHING TRUE;

SOMETHING PURE;

SOMETHING WITH THE PERFECT PICTURE FOR THE MURDER SCENE.

AM GETTING SUICIDAL EVERY TIME I STAND NEAR THE LEDGE.

 

BUT I NEVER HAVE THE COURAGE TO JUMP.

THERE IS AN IRON CRUCIFIX IN BETWEEN THE WINDOW WITH A SUNRISE MADE OF GLASS;

MAKING IT IMPOSSIBLE TO GO THROUGH;

MY VERY OWN IRONY.

I TELL MYSELF I MUST LEAVE THIS FORTUNATE PLACE ONE DAY.

I HATE WAKING UP FOR WORK, I HATE BEING BROKE;

SO, I WROTE MYSELF THIS NOTE AND PLACED IT NEXT TO MY WISH FOUNTAIN.

A GREAT HOPE;

THAT WHEN THE INCEPTION OF TIME FURTHER TRIES TO ELUDE MY MIND

AND THE SUBCONSCIOUS GETS HARDER TO FIND.

AND THE MOURN AND SORROW CONDEMN MY SANITY.

LET IT BE A REMINDER FOR ME TO KEEP TOUCH OF TIME.

FOR I NEVER KNOW WHEN ANOTHER SUNNY DAY WILL COME,

ALL I HAVE IS THE PAINTING OF THIS DREAM.

STARING STRANGELY BACK AT ME WHEN I CREATE THE WORDS I SEARCH FOR MYSELF WITHIN

TODAY I MADE A POEM LOOKING OUT THE TENTH FLOOR;

THE BEST FEELING TO HAVE WHEN YOU OVERCOME YOUR OBSTACLES.

THE HIGHER YOU GO THE GREATER THE SKY GETS,

THE SMALLER THE GROUND BECOMES.

FALLING ALL THE WAY DOWN THERE IS NOT AN OPTION.

I MUST KEEP MOVING,

KEEP MOVING TO THE TALLEST SKYSCRAPERS MY AMBITION ASPIRES TO

AM AFRAID OF HEIGHTS, AM AFRAID MY MIND IS A MAGIC PEN;

HOW LONG BE BEFORE I WRITE THE LAST LINE

BEFORE I STARE AT THE BLANK PAGE

LEAVING ME FEELING LIKE THE VOICELESS SINGER ON THE STAGE.

QUIETLY SITTING IN THE ROOM WITH THE FADING CANDLE, STARING AT A PAGE WITH EYES OF A MIND WITHOUT AN INK OF THOUGHTS