Stories

Who will find the story
that he wrote and then burned down?
To sacrifice everything in the name of purity
and then to erase the story
Don't you see how far the ego goes?
What consolation for the for the one
Who never let know
Purity is not some white cool cotton sheets
But a dense mass of dead cells and pus
Purity is a black hole
Now washed down the dirty drains of cities
But still impenetrable
Still useless tasteless colorless odorless