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To me

  • 61
To me |

My clouded face

It looks more than a meticulous maze

The green marbles - we call eyes -

Shine purely like glazed rice

The last I adore is my mouth

The sun is going down in the south

My body sculpted by someone

And I see my sculpture as no one

The skin - not more than a facade

It resembles a castle and I scream

“please open the gate.”

My scars will shimmer

wether red, black or silver

Blood will pour in cascades

I see myself standing in a masquerade

A new face for every emotion

I want to get lost and dive deep

into the pacific ocean

Diving into the dark until suffocating

Waiting, waiting and waiting

Still snapping for oxygen and being alive

Writhe in pain, suffering alone

the sound of a thriving beehive

Here I fade and slip away; I've

more than just me and my surface

What a disgrace

The voices say live, be you

The truth: they want you to become a gnu

which is trotting with a herd of black antelopes

you in a black mass

Show yourself with piebald coloration; dashing hopes

No remedy for me

In this eternity we call consciousness

I kneel before my bygone throne

Let you vegetate, We'll see when I am bone

© 2019 2022-06-02


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