This is not the moment for the acknowledgement of terror
Its time to paint my face, body and soul
Push hard, soul might turn on again
Been flashing on and off all this while
All maps in the bin
White paper ahead and a pen right beside it
Is ink yours or borrowed?
Did you nod again but to a new master?
Where are your weights?
Oh they never returned them?
Do you think these arches on your palm were carved?
And they are not your makings?
You gave the brush away?
Now you use any that appraoches your hand?
That pencil you sharpened but forgot to use?
Do you not need glasses to see?
Where did you buy your vision from?
