The Illusions from Ceiling

Jaia Papitz's picture

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I am looking above and I see
nothing
is nothing to be seen
else I do not want to look
I shut my eyes
cry, I pray to appear
high still nothing is
now I’m outside, in the street
in countertime
I keep the eyes tight. Everything
is hurting me, the thought of fear
I’m stinging my lips. I open them
watch in emptiness. Above I don’t look
is unnecessary; on top I feel, is the ceiling
I suicide to mumble:
You do not exist.

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