New People are Washing Ashore on the Beaches of Heart.

New people are washing ashore on the beaches of heart.

The heart is an ancient world with monsters and ghosts

Of memories and people who have left.

Abandoned homes, suffocation, and stiffening compartments hold them all. It’s time to cleanse. It’s time to empty it of loneliness.

The body is at war. All the organs are fighting each other. Hands and feet in their subordination go numb. The liver takes the spleen and runs away to find shelter. A long sigh has burst the stomach, acid running in vessels, and kidneys are filled with stones. These stones are used to kill the senses attacking with pain and restlessness. The ribs, crumbling are a cardboard box. How long will they resist this bloodshed?

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New People are Washing Ashore on the Beaches
New People are Washing Ashore on the Beaches

The silence calls. Time is a fleet, departing. You won’t ever understand. I refuse to talk to you. Now, I’ll tell secrets to myself. My intuition envisions metamorphosis on a blade of grass. If a pond can turn a larva into a frog, then this air should be able to give me wings. I refuse to believe in the fabrication of reality into your lie of fate. I will not fall prey to destiny. I won’t find my purpose in the end but stop at a checkpoint, create and die halfway. You are walking towards your fate and my grave comes running in my direction.

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