A poem

so tired that it doesn't even hurt that much
we got numb along the way
my hands looking for yours
find emptiness
I made

there are no more words left to say
all of them spent already
you take a knife
and cut the last
hope

you say it's destruction, no way to go on
I say that's how I go on
I've shut it all out
am I the one
mistaken...

what can be moved can be changed, you say
you move things to escape
it's too late to change
it's all been
done



Anybody that may read it - please, do not try to interpret it. Poems are never about true feelings, they are never real, they are ephemeral in their expression and falsify reality. Reality is never poetic. We only make it so. Everybody can read it and find something different in it. I may change or add to it in the future.