Hits me like the pain
after a rocambolesque fall
unexpected as the sweet delight
of bleeding the feeling out of the skin.
In a reversed way:
pain can be joy,
joy doesn’t change – itself –
route
And
by the way
who has decided there’s a
need of cause
for the consequence of laugh?
Why should there be a reason for
a heart to scream
its lightness of being?
This poem connects to “The lightness of being me“, by me.
Words on canvas 