Everything
that is lying in the depths of my pupils
Is fading
through the blue line
It is of a
pure silvery-blue shine
Made collar
This stream
flows more and more strictly
I am just
hanging on the ceiling
Infinite and
dark, with very occasional sparks of light
Roots and
branches are now trying to reach me
But how
long will it take them,
Since the curves are turning themselves
Into the
road to somewhere I don’t know?
And between
despair and glory
I wish this
was a metaphor to Rebirth.
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