something I have learnt
sometimes I do writing
mostly words meant to burn.
They all begin the same
a hunter starts to hunt
a hunter with no name
another hunter with no life.
Without ever knowing how to finish their game
nothing more lame than a half-done play
half-lovers, half-men, with their artificial eyes
so sad to watch them drown in their own pile of lies.
Can you feel my passion now
or these words were too rough?
Tell me something now,
was this good enough?
Was it good?
Was I cute?
When was that, was it alright?
Was I gentle, was I tuned,
not too soon, not too tight?
Did it hurt when you heard
how you never had a heart?
Does it hurt not to have one
and to hunt the hearts whole life
