composition

your des­tiny is like a spire string a cloud from a chimney
asymmetrical
seek­ing its way through the waves of the wind

lash­ing
deterred
interrupted

but there is a line
a pattern
that is your destiny
where you see what you be­come and where you are going

it is delved out of chaos and cancer
and that pat­tern is spirituality
and how that be­comes in re­al­i­ty for your life is the cor­ri­dor of mirrors

life doesn’t give presents
even if i know i’m right
peo­ple are just dumb matter
spout­ing me to the inevitability

i know it would be too easy if i got what i wanted
i would have no self re­spect if i was al­ready wrong
about how wrong they are

but when i am inevitable
the peo­ple who de­serve it
and ogled me
and they will get what they deserve
as it is inevitable
with the de­cay and fi­nal ex­tinc­tion of earth
that i get what i deserve
and that is the future

de­spite

the bab­blers
and the oglers
and the kacklers
and the snot noses
and the snot noses sermons

—tris­ti­tia languorem

Flom­mist Tris­ti­tia Lan­guorem eats tragedy. They have many names but it doesn’t change much the whole premise of the ideals. Antwerp, Bel­gium is where home is. It’s time for a fresh start. Copy­right © 2019 Tris­ti­tia Lan­guorem. Paint­ing source.

MOR D’ARTÍCULOS  MOR FLOMM !

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