I'm getting tired of dreadful disasters.
I cannot stand
red-looking eyes
and a silent incursion through self-constructed barriers.
I cannot stand it.
No,
I
can't.
It is utterly disturbing
to give birth to a renewed impotence,
like a dead man's hand
piercing through the dust of its grave,
finally seizing my ankle,
and whispering with a solid certainty:

"You will never learn how to move.
But who cares?"