swaying in the wind, water
return to normal
erasing footprints and memory clocks
lie inert
shameless silence thunders echo repeating anything,
a scream of death.
Reflection of a soul in the mirror
resembles a ruthless cry
if you are honest,
if
flees deceit and not confuse value and price,
and does not accept this bitter world.
(Image: The Scream, Edvard Munch)
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