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
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