When the sun went out
I was asleep then maybe dreaming
More darkness wakes me up
I am always looking for supplies to satisfy my hunger.
Then when everything is calm I sit down to write poetry
My poetry is not exactly poetry,
Just apply my application on every line,
The appeal of rehabilitating oneself in reality.
Image
Many days are the end of many black nights
With an ideal I abandoned
In a narrow corner of exiled society
I am the demonetized currency in this false kingdom.