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clockwork.

Much like the sun

it rises each morning

with pronged, familiar fingers

Gently grasping

Stifled.

Gasping.

Unconscious bliss

only for five hours

Six, if one is lucky

A considerable blessing

even still

for the keeper of a burden

so eclipsing

that I’m shattered

beneath

its weight and beauty

For the weight of

waiting

and the act of

praying

sometimes seem like

the only reasons

I’m alive

The only way

the dream survives

Please let me

bleed

this creeping thing called

pure

self

doubt

’til the pen runs out

Maybe then

we can breathe 

Free again

© C.M. 2020 All Rights Reserved


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Ciao for now! 

x


Featured Photo: Engin Akyurt/Pexels

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