Painting by Lou Ross.                    (instagram: lou_ross_)

I can predict the future.

I see myself on a desk,

twriling then breaking a pencil

into two.

Two hours, then four, then six 

then as long as I need for sustenance

Sweet sustenance that hug my liver

until it suffocates.

Sweet sustenance that drain my lungs

and make me colorblind until

I only see grey

black and grey

With no eyes no tastes 

and no skin.

My poor skin turns rigid 

as the plastic and metal I love.

A inevitable wedding

Of man and his children.


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