Tantalus at Lethe

I pray
Not to god
I pray to fragile sweet things
To pass on their sensitivity to people

I pray to the wafting sounds
To fill my mind with chaos
Chaos that prevents me from remembering

I pray to invisible sunsets
Beyond the visible blank wall
To shatter the places around
And make refuse out of tomorrows

I pray to insanity
To bind me in its clutches
Escape reality and fall into fetters

I pray to animal killers
To clip my feathers
And render me incapable of flights of fantasy

I pray to that face
Which makes living hours a nightmare
To forget to enter my eyes for a day

I pray to the scars
To remind me of the pain
Over and over again
Till I forget to forgive

I pray to cold winter
To visit my doorstep once
And teach me the tactics of indifference

I pray to my tears
To wash myself away
Like the stains of a blood red drawing
That dared to paint itself

I pray to the fish
To keep churning up the oceans
And make eternity an endless fear
Cyclical ebbs and tides
Neverending and cripplingly fierce

I pray to colourless dreams
To kill my intensity
Suffocate my heaving pride
And make me impotent and limp

I pray to my own violence
To not hide under ethics
And my flamboyance
To breathe through my words
If only insignificant and ignored.

I pray to cold fingers
To grip me in their lack of movement
To stagnate my journeys
Across painful past and past-stained present

I pray to you
To teach me hate
Secret love
And forgetfulness
And feed me with a potion from Lethe
That the gods drink deep every night.

Note: This poem has no mythological connotations. Only figurative.

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