a late evening sky as you wait

for something, for nothing;

you understand what that

“certain slant of sunlight” truely is &

know you won’t ever need to explain why

all art is a beautful lie

containing multitudes of meaning…yet

even as the years grow unheeded

still you can’t decide between believing

“Une vie pourrie vaut mieux qu’une putain d’illusion”

or if beatiful lies are sometimes truths

in disguise…


but for now there is only the fading

colours of the sun &

in this moment, that is enough. 


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