Prophet Poem by Not A Dream Choice

The prophet of isolation
Fascinated by loves incarnations
With inspiration from every cursing bliss
With tears in every closed fist

Voices confused, melodies in charge
She wants to get out from the practicing alarm
Torn in pieces, with a child’s cry
Reviving my foggy fall

Beside, inside, without
My vanishing sound
Can’t you hear I’m fading away?
On the market of smiles and cries

Torture orange, torture blue
They disturb the balance of her wiev
Strange circles on every photo
Black color that starts to gnaw

A hand, broking my neck
Whispering to my shadow
Licking up my blood
Writing with it on my arms

With its head inside me
Meanwhile it gnaw on my heart
Its eyes tell me...
I’m back at the start