Every new container rooms the thoughts I put in it.
Does that make the container empty?
Or is it the content that I can't see?
I fold my hand together to a small cup
I always hold the same
stretching over, pouring it into the open hole
slowly, painfully, like a mad obsession, every time
You open your mouth
as always
Why don't you ever object?
I cant break it. I never stop.
I am pouring and pouring and you never stop me
until its lifeless and filled with white soft worms
dripping out of the eyeshells
they are saying hi to me , they are smiling
Their victory? Their loss?
You are always the same but never the same one
I am waiting for you to stop me
What will happen then?
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