How
Out in the field, where the noone resides
Gaping like a fish, for one and the same
Squealing like a hyena, surrounded.
One and the different.
There's pain in this muscle.
Pain pain.
In a place been reached too oft.
Turn off?
It can't it won't.
It won't.
It can't.
There are bugs under my skin?
Only scars. Her mistake.
The deceit, the impenetrable wall;
Maybe not so much?
This mile of anguish, out in the meadow
Where the lambs run free and brisk,
There is no free.
There is only brisk
And hast
And rush rush mad.
With no air, shark shark, fish.
The bugs never disappear – an age or two they stay,
But how long is an age?
How wide is a field?
How wet is a fish?
How gleeful is a hyena?
How minute is a bug?
How free is a lamb?
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