Her gaze is fixed on bathroom tiles
each one of them a clear formulation
of blank slate
tabula rasa
even a single one is plenty but they are -how many?-
one, two…
but maybe it is better to look inside each frame?
Anxiety, her shadow, is her rival
bypassing her on treks of thoughts
it teases: too many on the bathroom wall for you
to study each in depth
life is too short for you
and one of them – which one, by the way?-
is clearly your death…
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