sharpened feeling strikes me
vértigo follows,
doubts
all filled with clues but no path to follow
how deep is the wound?
how clear the fog?
try to clean the head
try to reach the truth
nothing's never the same, but repeatedly
the stumble happens on the same stone,
a grey and rocky one
wounds have to be cleaned and healed again
where's is the simplicity? the artlessness?
waiting for communication to air again
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