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Sunday, December 6, 2015

What if time is the illness?

My head turned into an old carousal,
Only dusty glitters and rusty memories left.
The mind that forgot how to desire.

The lack of desire made me clumsy.
I stumbled and cursed four heavy skies.
Then I just levitated between the past and then.

First morning light produced monsters.
The bed sentenced two pale bodies to different places.
One paler than another.
One in north, the other one following narhwals.

Mind slightly fractured,
Eyes fixed on freckled hands.
Every second mattered and gave birth to a new pain.
Tired body and restless thoughts.
Time will heal everything.
What if time is the illness?