Breakaway

Every morning,
after breakfast,
I want run away,
from cold building,
from sore past,
to sell my life,
what I have lent,
to sell my faith,
which I can no more pretend.

...because I am not,
accrued from lies,
because I am not,
scentless nowadays,
like you had thought,
I am not like them,
I am not a coward,
like most of men,
selfish and mard.

For tangiple pain,
for fearful wounds,
I am stronger again,
with my self-control.

Its hard to be like me,
I dont wish anyone,
to feel what I feel,
when the day is done,
my body locked in desire,
sold eaten thoughts
like decoys for cartel,
set fire in mindless words,
because I miss comfort,
in retirement....

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