A Slow Process


Fingertips illuminated

I am wielding weapons

Capable of painting the sky

I see nooses tighten


Tightly around our necks

I paint the world with brand new eyes

All of us swimming through the stars

Water escapes our hands


Robbers of our own ideas

Creativity chips away

Like old paint off blank walls

Fading away into nothing


And with horror I realize:

We lead ourselves to the gallows.






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