Crows don’t cry – K. B

Please don’t take it too serioulsy, it remains poetry…


Crows don’t cry

Until the last crumble
Of flesh,
I disappear.
A nice life I have lived,
Left only with the hysterical
And useless wind
Useless religions too
In this end of night
Or end of life.

What a pretentious word,

Has there ever been
Life around
In this sweet illusion,
Dead eyes everywhere,
A persistant devil
And a mute God.

With all the sophistication
And subtlety of intelligence
We are still whipped until
Old age,
They call that the sting
Of memory
Coz getting too cozy
Is bad.

I’m running low on
Everything especially
Energy and cigarettes,
What is a cigarette
When the broad life
Invites in its light?

We have known
Only abduction
Devoid of any sugar,
God above all,
Then parents
And even the

The soul reaches
A quiet state of peace
Before death
I experienced it before
And was brought back
To life only to suffer more.

Yeah, Hell doesn’t age
And needs burning material,
I’m good enough for that.

Thanks for making me
Believe the contrary for
Such a long time.

I won’t survive more
Stress, sleep deprived
The devil did a good job
By making me enjoy
And strip me of everything
Without me noticing.


All rights reserved. 2019.



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