your cheek
touches the hard surface of the pavement
in your
eyes there are no sparks smouldering
the spirit
resists and it bites as long as it can
but
sometimes we enter and we fall
under the
grip of a zombie killer with dotted wings
transparent
X marks the spot where greed dwells
only one
eternal love rules the world
smell of
money and stupid things
under the
fingernails like a drug
all things
we have now started as a dream of someone
but it's up to the generations
what
purpose they will bring to them
can a tiny
silk thread change much?
*
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