0051

but sometimes i think but can’t feel

and sometimes i look and don’t understand

some things are  dying to be written about

but:

human’s ignorance or the ignorance of man,

leaves them unwritten(not unforgotten)

 

i shall not write about those i care too much of

because i realized it is after i flood my paper with ink;

after the trees are tortured with the screeching sound of metal chainsaws

after my ink is diluted with a colour i like to taste

that we become strangers.

like the objects are strangers to us.

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