No promises to keep
No excuses to believe
A window and a book
Black window as a look
Walls. Black
Anesthetized from emotions
Lines. Cracked
Burning into an opaque mirror
A knife
A trembling hand, veins are so naked
The sky
The purest eyes inhale the soul
Soul is a rare thing
Some are hidden, some are killed
Breathing alone and blind
No one lies, no one cries
Stay alone to slight
Or make the creed commits a suicide
A soul can’t heal
It dies – and if is strong – it revives