The String That Attach Her To Everything

It’s a place where a soul can not granted the wish,
Where we yelled to the yellow ambience,
To the string where it was attached,
To the cut where our blood dripping, filling the ceramic with indeed our wish : to know.
As we claw into to the string, where it was attached,
The space where we close our eyes as we cry, was also filled with failure.
Some point out there, I guess there will be river with white cloth as the water,
Falling gleefully everytime our hand sunk in it.
I yell ‘to keep it,
Let’s cry into it,
Let’s burn it even,’
How can I say the word I would like to say, if even the feeling I feel can even be known?
He wisely say : ‘you’d like to know.’
And it’s in my blood, perhaps the string, I drown to deep in the white cloth,
Crying yet unable to feel wet on my cheeks,
It is the string that attached,
It is the string that has the future,
It is only the string with only of my wish : to know.

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