something like a snake, something like a knife by peycho kanev

lost in the world
lost in the word
oh, my presumption of the present
and, yes, my hands like anthills
strangling this tiny place that I exist,
bring me the light of your torch,
because I toss back the Lie of The Art
and the falseness of God and Time,
crawl with me into tomorrow and your
redemption will be my revenge
for this world
for this word
for this sad sad being

oh, my bitter memories

all this viciousness percolating through
my senses of hell and fields without fences,
all your thoughts penetrating that black space
where we exist but we look for something bright
with our faces looking up

waiting for the light
or for the eternal darkness.

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