The Death of the Rivers
The Death of the Rivers
My mental wire renders
Images of worn out routes,
After a short circuit happened
In the pathways of daily burdens;
My diseased body quiver with its weight
The hard stitch rubbles skin snatchers;
Leeched of life force
I have little energy to breath;
The voice I hear is not my own,
They dictate notes in familiar tone
But full of foreign phrases,
Which they disguise as invitation;
I wish I could dissolve from memory
Or hide in my skull cave;
But it is not wise to stifle;
Then an unlearned laughter came
A spring emerging into sun rays
A Sea emerges from the death of the rivers
There are two ways to live a life
I can pursue the difficult one
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