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Griet,  le 07.06.2015

I am made of glass.
Moulded out of sand of my mother's mother.

And you
carry me
in a world that doesn't allow
to be

save me
every time
a couple of hours times minutes times seconds.

I am made of glass.
Moulded out of the sand of my mother's mother.
So I keep my silence.
Not to break
the moment.
So I don't move.
I whisper.
I whisper.
I silently rock the chair of my mother's mother
while I wonder.

Transparency goes into oblivion.
Where is the line ?
Where is that line ?
I have to find that line.
I fade.
Focus on minutes and seconds.
I listen
in slow slow motion
before I cross
that soft soft line
that cuts deep and deeper.
I bleed.

I am made of glass
so I stop breathing.
In the hope not to disturb
not to annoy
not to bore.
In the hope for one more hour... one more minute
one... more... second
before again
I break.



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