Catography # 47. “Shell”

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Why there has to be this damn soil mixed with tears and pain between me and you? This shell of ice as snowy chrysalis, which flakes off myself in tiny flakes of human waste heat in constant search of a compassion for you now foreign to this world, living only a few souls in desperate and obstinate resistance?
With a battered emotional shield, under a destructive rain, a gust of wind at white heat, in free fall to nowhere, I am looking for your leg and your hand.


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