John Castro

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the face of thought?

every face has a thought hidden behind the visage of visuals
like the beating of the ear drum listening to compound residuals

the beating of the heart, adreneline rush, push past the point of strain
mental structure whinding spiraling downawrd thinning the blood of the brain

eyelids like shutters flapping violently through the moonlit breeze
frosted visual enchanting on a crystal island while lakes of airs swim through trees

if ear drums had sight would the sound carry what they see?
would it penetrate your retna emitting impossible screems?

fragmented sentences with words sharp as shards of glass
shoots up your esophagus slicing up your tingue as it pass

plasma painted teeth swimming in saliva stained blood
the smile of innocent kidnapped torchered and hid in mud

the darkness of a corner with a child beckoning appraoch
taken from the day light shadowed by the adult like reproach

epervescent ponds violently errupting through surface tension
the remains of a dilapidated lake of acidity the mind chooses not to mention

the head of a serpent a product of whinding smoke creation
burning the air and ground from the genesis of its foundation
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