And I end up locked up here …
Back in the month November,
Chance called me, and I followed,
Defining the word “perfect.”
Evening blanketed the Earth.
Finally, I found my home.
Getting him was such a task.
Happy; he had to become.
In our well-devised plan,
Justice helped us take him out.
Krakens couldn’t trace him home.
Loud and clear across my dreams.
Miracles didn’t happen.
Nights became darker and weird.
Oh, God, why can’t he shut up?
People thought the same like me.
Questioning myself and them,
Regretting in the shadows;
Sanity sometimes flew out.
Thorny treatment was his thanks.
Unknown to people we’ve left.
Veins got wounded, I give up.
We can’t die for a demon.
Xylophone tunes at the back.
You can’t judge me when I’m right.
Zenith has reached this poem.
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