when i call upon the mischief

that undulated beneath this undying land,

under air sheathed with a foul taste

of the flosses of flying,

cotton-candy stained with tar,

saturated with disappointment and

disbelief --

melting down, crystallizing

on my skin -- transforming me

into the oblivion i’ve crafted,

one that whispers the marks of my fingerprints

serving a reminder for what

I inflicted,

when i say i want to draw the clouds that

overlooked the everlasting nature of this


i mean the ones that lingered with me

through the dust and dawn of the repeating

days, and soaked the scars

that embellish my face. not

the clouds that danced in their own

skies dyed with the shade of blue they

extracted from forget-me-not petals,

when i beg the ground beneath my feet,

hidden beneath the cement that deteriorates

not from the sun’s touch but from the heat

produced by this darkness, source unfound,

and beg the sky beyond my sight,

to see what i ask of is nothing but

another sliver of life for me to continue,

another hope for me to taste,

i am calling, speaking and begging for us all,

all us beggars,

to see the mischief we’ve brought,

know the graces that continue to grace us,

and beg,

for forgiveness for we know how we have all

destroyed what ounce is left of beauty

with greed and undying nonchalance.

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