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Wound | Poetry

Resurrectus: Digital art by Shawn Michel de Montaigne





Why believe when all I need is to open my eyes?

Why argue with the world? Why even acknowledge it?

The world has never and will never care about me, about my life,

about anything I have to say or will say.


Each day is a broken egg. Each day is a twig snapping from a tree.

Each day is habit and routine like liquid pages by which I sail the

Imagination Ocean. The illusion of sameness I reject. I am different today,

even if what I do today is, for all intents and purposes, the same as

yesterday, the same as the day before that and the day before that.


I reject desolation. I reject the crushing years where I tried to be like everybody else.

That was the true death. That was the true rot. Look! The sky opens, and the stars

wheel soundlessly and silently, and the rain comes and everything drips like an open

wound.




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From Fractalverse

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Fractal art: Resurrectus by yours truly