The Death of the River

The Death of the River When I see the mirror I can see the inner working of my machinery, Look my mental wire renders images of worn out routes after a short circuit happened in the pathways of daily burdens My diseased body quivers with its weight of hard stitch skin snatched-rubbles leeched of life force as I have little energy to breath The voice I hear is not my own, It dictates notes in familiar tones But full of foreign phrases, which it disguises as invitation I wish I could dissolve myself from memory or hide in my skull cave, But it is not wise to stifle, Then an unlearned laughter came A spring brings the sun rays A sea emerges from the death of the river There are two ways to live a life I can pursue the difficult one