Step into my well.
Step into my well.
Feel yourself falling
into that
fall.
Feel yourself
grazing the walls.
They control like
the fat-controller,
that faceless
face falls deeper,
stronger,
heavier.
Faster down
the flume.
Look through
the bricks at
how
you’re an actor
acting out who you are
like a
hiding
butler.
Deeper
into the pit;
feel and think,
stand and watch.
A string can’t save
the hopeless faith;
it crumbles,
falling mass –
a weighted feather.
It separates at the seams
and the shell is cracked
open for that
old
aged
brickwork to see.
This is the fall.
The bottom.
The solution.
Mary X.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Xtreme high Xtreme low xtreme nite xtreme day.