I draw a running time
Mirroring my face
Towards a broken space
Freezing my wrinkles -
An old age adage
I search the deepest treasure
Digging my grave again and again.
Stultified
I stitch my remains -
A cadaver for my own dissection
I war on my weakest spot
And win a loss
Comprehending the incomprehensible.
Rooted underground
I search my broken twigs
I paint the darkest colour
On a blank canvas
And hawk protruding night
to prey on my thoughts
with bristles in the air
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