IN LIMBO

By Luciana Moroianu

Cover me in space and time,

and blur the lines that blur my affections for rotten

things…

There is no such thing as connections.

Perfection— stunned illusions drenched in hopeless

romantic nihilism,

Erection of statues broken on upside-down

pedestals of an anticlimax.

The wish for solstices that last lifetimes

but failing in detriment of the equinox,

A paradox — walking inside my shoes,

most of the time... I am lost in dreams.

Shadows of paranoid flowers that sing with the

passions of an Antichrist…

Born into lies,

Lord of the Flies —

Devour nothingness into life.

Scratch surfaces of the moon with a knife,

duller than my beliefs in elemental hunger

for stupid strings not attached.

Piscean love for a reality

that’s an illusion, forgotten in the void of a

cosmosis,

that’s not here —

Dead symbiosis of a dream.

Muting the spring to empower the autumn within,

Sun gods fall at the speed of shadows

as underworlds need sunlight too.

Pass over in my limbo,

where I rest my darkness

before the highest octave of pain

hits me like the coldest summer rain.

A crippled need for an embrace

but once you’ve felt the sun,

would you settle for a firework?

An only spark —

to last you through the winter…

#darkpoetsclub