Slow clockwork ticks against
my will like a depressed
goldfish searching for the anchor
in the avenue of escape.
Signs emerged from the stone
have their eyes glued on me
in unnatural positions.
Put my self-realization on paper
I can't roll the stone alone
Two butterflies chasing each other
asking for a metamorphosis, or
a resurrection. Tomorrow
or the next day I will be summoned
get away from me
I am almost there
leave the scales behind
then magic will happen