Mortal

inhale colors that react to your nature,
substantial lies feeds of your heart.
cos in mere seconds there isn’t any flavor
and your eyes bleed black across your "art".

finger points to the sky, stars have to light up!
ain't it like this? No, hope may be corrupt .
god is the wisdom of hope, can I pray now?
praying while looking at pitch darkness, how?

talking to myself and i'm falling,
ground may break, but words still fly.
my child, if you'll ever exist, don’t read words,
float upon them.

i am mortal,
but don’t want to believe that I am buried.
mom, dad, is my soul exist?
why am I even asking?