Below the frame stands bare
A metal, freezing to the touch,
Reddening as the water breaks its surface.
A stripped form
as it stands in solitude;
its current state
invites no visitors to come and play.
It stands weighed down by previous hands, by its function,
and only that saves the remains.
All the folly that had wrecked
the vitality of its movement
had once been the spirit in the form
of blasphemous dreams.
“I had a dream of a sentiment
that I cannot recollect”,
Some call it
death of swing
euthanasia of indulgence
the abortion of the self.
Here lies the spinning
Necrosis in the form of follicles
A smoke in the air
to remind the lungs to hold their breath.
A trail of toxins which rupture the surface
and demolish the strings
leaving the scheme immaculate.