Instincts speak a language of their own

You try to know all that doesn’t want to be known

Conclusions based on what they say and do, and what they don’t

Backing off, bulls jerk backward, away from the red, the phonies

Back to square one, their instincts create hierarchies with their horns


‌Mistaken realizations; the finer ideas of wrong

Were not merely in doing wrong, but in not feeling wrong

Uncertainties of the right, were not in doing right

But feeling right, when in clear wrong


Please. Let the wolf win. Let it mingle in its pride

If I define triumph to the pack, the costs to leave behind

I would already have missed the evening meal, twice

A cycle giving birth to new ideologies overnight


A garbage heap looks the same no matter where it is

A language is misinterpreted equally where it is understood, and where it’s learnt

Pencils bend where graphite lacks, instead of the other way around

The more down-to-earth, the colder the chills as dawn rips the sky in two

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Published by

S.K.

This right here, keeps me sane. You will find here, sincere thoughts mixed up with a subconscious trying to fuck it all up. I hope you understand.

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