Not Me Not

More than its unplugged mysteries,
Hungry of poetic words that seem to never end
How is it supposed to go on and on,
When there is nothing at all?
In its mystery
In the lines that create the world
How oddities come before heaven
Its scent
Its taste –
Clouds seems to rip apart the woes of the world
And there is nothing to hold on to
The mysteries of oddities
The oddities of mysteries –
It shall never be same,
And yet unplugged as it is,
We never seem to wonder
We never seem to notice
That each trance is a step towards suicide
How wonderful and lecherous,
How mysteries unfold like same old stories
How wretchedness wash itself anew
That wolves stray onto the ripples that they make
That wolves moan at the sound of its silence
Mouthing each other’s names
Its frustration,
Its journey
How verses can go freely unnoticed,
That they substitute love with reason,
And reason substitutes nothing
Nothing but fulfillment –
That within each unplugged mysteries,
There shall be no same frustration
No melancholy
No coffee
Not me not.