A track of blood leads us
To no place. You cry,
I lean myself at the edge of the day.
I cut a bottle from my right heel.
The neon lights blinks in
The bath. An area of light is fused.
My reflection in the mirror
It 's squandered in a vortex.
One century passes without saying anything,
And we look at it with
indifference. Horror breaks
A window. We begin to
To flee by the door. The beam
melts us. We boil.
A slaughtering of butterflies rebegins.
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