It is important to tie knotes out of 
the shoulders and circuits in the brain, 
before stirring water with a clay spoon.
Otherwise, the hands 
won't be soft enough to 
clean the red tides of memory.
The breath of sun beam 
will give colour to our skin, 
a piece of rainbow over the cover, 
May be erase the existential crisis.
Inside there are crimson prints, 
but don't worry, 
we are just carrying wounds,
not guns.
No one will notice.
No one will be harmed,  
just us.
Pack chlorine smiles, 
before copper footprints ask 
flowers to stand in a line.
And manifest to have a flicker of breath.
Because 
Our poems are tails of snow.
Our extinction won't add value,
Our fossils won't be appreciated.
We are half baked tragedies.
This is the short history 
of a candy before being swallowed.
Not an autobiography. 

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