The Fortune of Tellers

There is a cut inside my hand

that separates

Life from Reality

A true sense of

where I am now

from where I want to be

Others claim to be able

to read me

And I go along with

the lie

Should I not nod

then egg smears violently

Adhere to rhetoric

I mimic what they tell

Be it I who sees the fine line

inside my head

And provoke my large hands

to grab hold of it all

Releasing to only increase


The story flows

As only spirit knows

May the backs of my hands

stay as clean

One thought on “The Fortune of Tellers

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