Cleft in twain now looking for my M(ark)
launching of my Odyssey but there awaits the narc!
“Be a goodfella now,” he said
“not a raging bull” in a titanic set.
Lost in translation and bearing my se7en sins
I’ve been searching for my dolce vita ever since.
Being a pariah among parasites
I now count 12 years a slave in wuthering heights.
And although I try hard to be the artist that they seek,
I only get identified with Zorba the Greek.
Pan’s labyrinth lies ahead
But I’ve got the gladiator with me my friend.
Stepping upon a shape of water
A desert flower emerged.
“Be braveheart my dear when you get discharged.”
The best years of our lives are yet to come
but I only long for the silence of the lamb.
The sting is deeply rooted in the skin I live in,
The English patient they call…
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