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Once i drew a groggy red circle
thinking of the witchy woman with her awkwardly shaped lips
                    daintiness of mysticism and dust
trying to qualify duality through intertextuality
following the tightrope walk between the two antipodes
of life
seeking for solutions
while wondering how to handle a new year without fierce 
(future is illusion) 
                     daintiness of mysticism and dust
remained in guilty pleasure
adamant heartbeat, wooden tears, fabric allover the witches pale skin.
then i walk home alone, trying not to touch the metallic floor
only walking on the grey funnel line
    (or swinging back in time on chains)
listening to various failures
enduring in acceptability