it’s a short
song
with a
melancholy
refrain;

the belt
is hard and
strapped
and the notes
are only
the coarse
call

of a
smoke
infested
stress.

new life
grows
without being
invited first,
and

we (I)
can’t help
but to
stifle
it with
well
crafted leather.

(silence.
nobody
asked you
anyway)

it’s a short
song, this
one.

the melody
of

forgetfulness.

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