Clattered pieces of my mind,
Upon shelves aging over dusty knowledge,
I trade a century of bliss for a fraction of death,
The times when my tasteless eye catches the truth,
I dekko at the moon half past my fading shadow,
There in is but my twin conscience,
The master or slave has no place where realms die,
Where the savage and the elite are but equals,
It is the sacred grave where carnality is buried,
I shake off the very essence of my delight,
Drown in the wisdom of insanity,
I scribble words with eyes, with scents piercing,
A place where only a few can reach.
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