Kasur Kosong

Empty Bed

The bed is empty. It moves. It grabs me. Carry nothing. nothing which could be so odd in a dignity. When I wish I could fairly hear the voice of protests, movements of recognitions, I was well aware. I was vivid, watch and wondered where I could stand before living.

I roll my eyes in predicament. That there is more and more emptiness of the lonely, indepted, and secluded heart of some fine high-free pecking birds. To stand before living, again.

I still wondered where is that, the real relief? 
I dont quite know which. And concious was the part which might be once aimable and charming. But I bear up and worn out in a flash of an empty eye.

where is what? A lighting sign? relief and reassurance? had it softly dropped by? 
I continued no where, reconsidered if there is another way I could live in. Where such a prayer would be the most submissive stupidity. But let me hear at least. Like a nonsense nervous idiotic I thought I be. And might be.

I daresay, I dont know how I say. Therefore all my nonsense was just a witty face, and it falls at the edge of a new chatasthrope. So I stood up once again, observing my only self. I walk and I walk a mild away outside my body. I walk through a frame by frame, hearing only sound that haunted. The very night. The very point.

Here I come, showing anything but dozens of empty envelope, waiting to be sent away. Far. Far away. Instead of thinking I would be fainted, scattered, ragged. In a quite dignity.

Deep still things to be passed when we come to pass within.

“The bed is still empty” I said again, stood still.

May31