A Slow Process

Location

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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