That numbness, the hole in your heart, the veins, that keep you occupied with Beating,

Away the silent feeling, running,
It’s not your body that stops, it’s you,
To feel blindly, be a fool,

Washing your face in these two hands,
The strawberry knuckles,
The longing,
I have decided,

Is freedom truly solitude?
I feel you missing,
Become forgotten, please,
I am a black hole, an absence,
without these inky capillaries.