Symbols are true, because they are there.
Your solemn ache
proud of failure
traces a circle.
Dark and eternal, in all its purity
punishment becomes an award for life.
It is not difficult to know
whether a god exists.
You commit suicide to become a god.
Inoculating falsehood
dying daily unto death was not my pitch.
Your mind breaks the moon in dark,
into hundred bright crumbs.
Each bit becomes a metaphor
To shock the garden.
