The clutter I've accumulated:
thousands of books, stacked
into neat piles that reach the ceiling -
I crave the knowledge folded delicately
between each page.
But what use is knowledge
when I have no strength to act upon it?
Come what may,
I must rouse myself.
Come what may,
I must revive my slow-beating heart
which even now
wears the mask of untimely sleep.
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