There’s nothing more poetic than fatalism

Somewhere in a remote corner of my world
I forsook my troubled heart
And almost believed
I was rid of it.

Through the meridian hours
At the behest of the disquiet
Beneath the flagrant decadence
I long in my ruins
To sum up my wisdom
And my life:

Here I rest now
Curled up with my infinite being
Lying on the fringe of
Eternity and nowhere.
I will take pleasure in my fatalist bow
And the final farewell of the illusionist.

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3 responses to “There’s nothing more poetic than fatalism

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