Sta.sh
Holding the mullion of the window
dallying with the cold mind
trying to ignite the breathe
shadow of smartness
collecting the detritus of mind
writing only the invisible lines
shaking hand with the sweating
staring at the red dots
eyes have vanished, now dots are seeing me
incising the pain from the squeezed mind
need decisive to face the faze
i am not god, but god may be me
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