To Open That, Which Has Been Locked Inside a Genetic Box
Airing the Wholly Narcissistic Veins
Stepping into the Place, Where Fever Flows like Lymph
To Stop In the Totalitarianism, Where the Soul Falters
To Lie Down, Spin Into Weirs of Infinite Hair
To Wait for the Drowning Worthy of Scars of Flooding
Fleeting Blind Lymph
Etching Ankles
She Flows Down Further and Further
And She Whispers to Herself
