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R u p p r e c h t   M a y e r

L a s t   a f f a i r s


Actually not much has changed. The fingers are more dexterous and the skull has adapted nicely. With a little rubbing, my eye sockets widen. The protruding cliff along my brow serves to protect my vision. Right in front of my eyes there are bars rammed into my cheekbones where the last visitors are clinging. I want to be fast, feel the breeze blowing one last time, braid my hair into small pigtails in order not to lose it all in the wind. In the midst of the bends I am proud of my blood. When it starts flowing again no one will be there to admire the dark blue of my veins. Where do you learn how to cast your own death mask?


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