Cloth won’t save you this time,
so let it glide along your Great Wall
and reveal your true nature.
You, malleable reptile,
can’t stop it from
exhaling your second breath
(salty, savoury, silent),
shuddering at their touch.

So why bother resisting?

Just let it grow, thicker and older,
pathetically attached to the surface,
a million soundless martyrs
born to turn to stone and fall
until the end.
Your end.


You can freeze it with poison
or sauté it with fake light,
but IT will know
and keeps NO secrets.

Your sickness exhibition
opens 24 hours a day.
A register of my weakness,
my exposed inner fails…

Didn’t you noticed
time is smashing and
cracking me from inside?

Oh, how it knows
the shame
that we strangle
but simply
we can’t

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