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Pic: Willem Du Toit

Her thoughts devoid of ration

A darkness owned by the need for salty replenishment

Eyes dubious to the prospect of nothingness

The vortex of inner disorientation a whirlpool of measure

Vanishing into the heartthrob nature of emotional slavery

A beat akin to that of the earth

The pulse of the planet’s lifeblood

A vibration, resonating only with that of the ocean

Fear of the abstract nature of thought

Tangibility of the heart an internal master

Removing the filter of incomplete honesty.

Lost to the pulse of the mother

A madness born of the land

Asylum born of the sea.

The sea.

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