Time sits still, on his chair
that has long stopped rocking
staring at a jumble of words
in a carefully preserved
nameless notebook.
Who was I annihilating?
the old man wonders.
a wary realization
of a wrong choice.
what remains is the mystery
of the megalomaniac.
the unobliterated words
on the last page,
as if written
for him.
He is in my shoes now.
He can’t go back.
And he will never know.
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