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烛针缝合无数消解的“我”,成为此刻的标本
The one ascending stairs holds molten amber,
under the gaze of plaster gods
treading upon the spiral of old roles' skeletons.
?️
Amid the steel-toothed hymn,
wax tears bore through every act
until returning self to rubble.
⛓️
Yet the god still pours wine—
with each complete collapse
as the eternal premiere.
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