For my dawn juxtaposes into the night.
For the things that were granted are yet to come.
Flutter high, spiral low
Tip toe to the depths.
Ephemeral shreds of azure red
Veil the vision of my asymptote eyes.
Bless me, curse me,
Deal me blow after blow
My turn will come
Just don’t make it slow.
Somedays your whispers are tendrils of feathered snow
Alighting threadbare on my open throat.
I guess what I meant all along
Is “good night, world,
I’m much too tired to write a song”.
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