Teach me,how to romanticize this

bleak emptiness,a sense of futility

And not being able to understand the

most  important statement of desolation.

Then I will surely write a

thousand lines of invasion.

A poem is a certainty of people with a void

In that sense,I am connected

to myself.

For my poetry is poetry in reverse

“Y-R-T-E-O-P”

Yet there is a bleak precariousness

within me

Like the girl who locked

herself in a diary

And  left thehouse

To fall in love with a bridge

For she was a burden to herself.

Reaching that quiet place is

laborious and hellish.

It gets more enigmatic

When you recollect all things

You cannot evade

Nevertheless,you are not looking

at a garden

But a cemetery

Filled with memorials

Having elegies you cannot decipher

And you would sit with that

Vanity forever more.