strange, this life.

All in vain, they tell you.

Since the moment you were born

heavy chills go down your spine

thinking,

nothing grows back

and nothing is never enough.

You go through life

with sorrow in your living soul,

and conundrums in your achy bones.

You flow between the stars at night,

hoping that one day

you’ll reach those moments

of these forgotten lines.

You go up and down

the stream of life

in search of, perhaps,

the solid ground

you’ve been avoiding

your entire life.

Never enough, they say.

Going back and forth

through violent storms,

pouring blood and shame

and ripping clouds

with hidden rage.

By Ioana Moldovan