[Untitled#1]

I hear my ribs creak as I breathe

In the dead of the night, the only sound

The day replays in slow motion,

the monotone duller than a monochrome painting,

Which in my mind’s eye is set on fire

Turned to ashes like the remains of a phoenix

And like from the remains of a phoenix, I saw it arise again the next day,

The same blindingly monochrome gold.

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