I was coming with the new stuff
to get high through the mischievous off day.
The clouds were coming back to the morning streets and sidewalks were filled with the opportunity to get wet and touched.
Just at the last staircase I found a key…a humble one… passed number of broken days.
It had a memory which transcended my senses and I thought about unlocking the right door before it was too late…
The key of everything,
they key of the destruction within a prison,
the key to live through a day of fashionable deaths.
I was wandering, I was Jamming the key in the buttholes of so many god-damned locks,
I was mad with the greed of discovery.

Places with cracked panes, places with bushes around the woods,
places with naked trees and fallen kites.
Purples in the sky…the returning zombies…I turned towards my shelter.
That same staircase…that same rotten smell…that same stuff to kill the mutterings…
this time I went straight with the staircase,
and jammed it in my own old lock…it cracked…
Ah! The bonfire…the displaced Bushcraft…the snow was a foot deep,
tiny fireballs were going upwards…
And that night I sang a song where in every word I was found dead.

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Photograph: Adri Luna.