Unthinkable

The resistance

Of these tired cells of internal hatred.

I see open wounds

In that yellow-black sky

In that sky

In that yellow-black sky.

.

You wouldn’t even know, what’s going on.

You wouldn’t even know, what’s going on.

.

It seems to me, like my conscience is falling apart,

Like old and tired paint on the facade of a building,

Every point reaches singularity,

Everything is a matter of numbers.

.

Reflections lie like needles on a hand,

under the shine of the sun.

.

You wouldn’t even know, what’s going on.

You wouldn’t even know, what’s going on.