If the boy who draws
Let’s you look over his shoulder
If the poet smiles
And show you her words.
If the girl who sings for the shower only,
Hums a song
In front of you.
Know that you’re no longer a person
But the air
And the dust
That fills their lungs
When the world perishes,
And all things cease to exist,
You’ll remain inside an ink stain,
A paint brush, A song.
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