The lasting silence

The beauty of the self is in self-destructing.
That way you triumph over your transience
When your eyes go astray and balled
No thumping on the chest revives music
Distant listening and hair in a close mat
An electric shock here, needle piercing there
Does nothing to bring your world back.
There is a red liquid and words trail
There is then silence in place of rhythm
She wanted to bring the final logic in this
In the patternlessnesses and wild guesses
It did not exactly work and the silence lasted.

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