To Open That, Which Has Been Locked Inside a Genetic Box
Airing the Wholly Narcissistic Veins
‍
Stepping into the Place, Where Fever Flows like Lymph
To Stop In the Totalitarianism, Where the Soul Falters

To Lie Down, Spin Into Weirs of Infinite Hair
To Wait for the Drowning Worthy of Scars of Flooding

Fleeting Blind Lymph
Etching Ankles

She Flows Down Further and Further
And She Whispers to Herself