Diktis:D

Maybe one day, or maybe not.
I still see the sparkles of
containing rot.
This place, so big, so bad.
Where everyone is caring,
but only of themselves.
The poets are the only,
the actors and writers,
who pick up the shelves.
Painter and scissor,
rubber and pencil.
Not as importnant,
as lipstick and clearasil.
Maybe one day, or maybe not.
The place of containing rot.