Words are a cure
to my otherwise non-appealing allure.
I am as pure as one could be,
if being pure involves living grief.
Sparse and superb
are the beauties in this world.
I use my mind like a locker combination.
How did I fall off my path to my forgotten destination?
Tricks and traps capture my belief;
What is a tree with just one single leaf?
I lost my soul. I forgot my mind.
I forgot this cure. I hate to know what ties will bind.