A healing feeling bubbles in my bones,

Causing small vibrations that ripple forever,

Silent mileage gathering like a Sunday storm,

Promising chaos that can only leave me in peace,

Steeling, revealing something in sparkling tones,

Pausing expectations, those inner wild endeavours,

A violent climate, just another being of my ageing form,

Encompassing the very best of it, as well as the very least,

The still chill shattered, its pieces splintered on my skin,

The aches and pains just echoes that work themselves out,

Faded, cascaded down beyond the basement of all the organs,

There’s just no more space for it all, not even in the soles of the feet,

The will killed spectacularly with the passion of a dark sin,

Signs of mistakes and stains right there where bad thoughts sprout,

Shaded and tainted with the fears lumped together in gluttonous portions,

Undoubtedly the work of a murderous saint, bravely and exquisitely complete…


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