The faint

I didn’t write for sometime
Didn’t feel the urge to do it
Overwhelmed by the reality flow
The muses fainted
The cracks from the floor swallowed them
Another layer of dust lavishingly spread at my feet

Vacuum, void, nothingness 
Powerless, exhaustion 
Mainly, emptied and knocked down by the atrocities of these times
The bad news are followed by more bad news
Fake or true, an instrument of manipulation 
The muses got swirled under this tsunami wave called reality
No wish for survival left
In their foggy eyes I saw the doom 
With the next wave poetry will leave too
The curtain of smoke from the Amazonian forests will envelope slowly our poetry buds
The lungs will succumb in desperate attempts to form a rhyme or to keep the rhythm in this intricate nightmare
The muses, already dust under our paved ways, can’t save us anymore 
They donated us the last amount of oxygen 
Their last breath, already
We are left intoxicated with our egoes
We will fall, one by one as the trees of that far away forest did

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