Ominous and Self Indulgent
Something simple
something silent
braying in the darkness
a buzzing in the distance
a roar caught on the wind
and all the noise lands on my skin
a nervous mess
of radio static
and far fetched lies
tangle through my hair
like many before me
I don't know where there
is to get to, and I don't want
to go anywhere from here.
Securing a place out of time
seems harder then bleeding
the fever out of my skin.
.
Something loud and
foreign finds my face
breaks it open
and wipes it dirty
with shadows, sullies it
with filth. I am old
and lost--no map, no star,
pockets full of feathers
wings on my back
and no where to fly to.
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