Free Yon Of No Trace
tempted slowly dragged in
never there at all. it satisfies.
no trace until there is.
I run until I burn. set up, set on fire.
speed this process
open up and pour out
until torture, tolerable, we say to this "no point",
as if I feel something.
when the time comes, I will welcome the ice,
or the flame,
catch me crashing
into myself again
what's this urge encountered to create?
to which there is no point.
maybe,
it's time
to throw in the towel
struggle
abandoned