Sill symphony

I don’t have a verse tonight
Not a single one

The spring rain is more of a drizzle
My sills became the instrument of infinite torture
Drop by drop,
a little chisel is hammering my inner walls
tension accumulates
the furies. oh yes, those harpies
unfold their hair ready to spread the madness
the symphony has tragic notes
the thunders are muted
buds burst into the night a white conspiracy

Not a verse tonight
Rhymes have drowned

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