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SPILLED INK


I don’t know

if I should

grab a pen

or a brush

so

I grab a pen and paper

and instead of

write

I

erase


I think

about buildings

lately

and how the rich

build towards

the sky

and the poor

towards

the earth

while heaven is up

and

hell

is always

down


Days go by

slowly and

with a quiet sound

that I now start

to understand

my plants

are steadily

growing

reminding me

that speed

is a subjective

matter

while I begin

to doubt

about the

meaning of

it all


The time is

03:47

and my

heartbeat

is older than

an hour

I can’t say i am

my best

self but

I am for sure

my favorite


until today





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