I locked the pain inside of the body,
to transcendent,
alternate in wisdom.
I filled the jar with suffering water,
that needs to be drunk with peace
of Socrates.
The walls are mirroring my face,
my twin, The Lion,
straightening my shoulders,
healing my own skin.
I put my skull into the vase, art deco
of an empty space
where my bed remains without a sin
so I'll stop by to say thank you God,
even there is nothing to be thankful for.
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