“Everyone has to scratch on walls somewhere or they go crazy”
― Michael Ondaatje, In the Skin of a Lion
Vestiges of eternal love adorn axioms
of universal truth, edicts from beyond
the realms of human comprehension,
self-professed writers, lovers, and poets,
graffiti-artists haunt this decaying ruin.
The atrophy of their words echoes
in the moss-covered stone:
scars on a self-mutilated body.