Lost Bullet

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Lost Bullet
necrophilic sensation that is born and dies within you
totally antagonistic to your precious cargo.
And you don't care about party colors or skin colors
You simply let yourself go
You project yourself until you get
that place where you will surely
You'll make nothingness your reality
How many faceless cries
look at your final trajectory?
How many childish games do you burst?
You are the crossroads of all
pains and questions
Though you are lost
We all know that your goal is always to arrive
No matter where or in what form...
Only to break into the reality of those who
distracted ignore your presence
Lost in a thousand stories
In this concrete jungle
In an old town
Or simply...
Where there is life