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A Drive With WingsDelicate white whisps across the smooth expanse of an abused body,
Snowy turmoil reaches for a hold on the barely contained chaos held underneath,
Never confronted it churns, builds,
Kept at bay by the biting japes, snark turn of the lips, and half cocked bravado,
Trickling out one tear at a time,
We watch the stars twinkle out one by one as the road goes on,
Wrapped in shadows to hide the fire,
Our wings clipped before the birth of flight, always the desire to fly,
Touch the clouds before the rain comes, for surely it will come,
Running backwards into what we fear,
Changing to end where we start,
A mark left where everything changed,
Where the horrid lay rose a small joy,
A touch here,
A smile there,
The blue skies that search sear fathoms,
To a place battered and torn,
Laying in the latant embrace,
A moment to dream of better days,
Never silent or still for long,
But a home all the same.
A Bloody, Stupid Miracle The day we’d cured the human condition was the day I put a bullet through my head and didn’t die. It was also the day I realized how scared I actually was of death, and after hours of muscle ache from holding that gauze against my open skull, after the wound closed and everything went back to normal, I had myself a good old-fashioned brainstorm. How ironic.
But when summer came, everything had fallen to shit. The air scorched my skin and parched my tongue every time I took a breath. The sun glared down on a rapidly-collapsing world, full of the undying bastard children of cruelty and misfortune. What was one to do when their cells regenerated faster than they decomposed?
My feet hit the pavement, now littered with jagged bits of glass to snap at my toes, thoroughly baked by the blazing ball of bitter disdain high overhead. Today was worse than yesterday. Though I’d often wondered the purpose of it anymore, I
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