Like an old epiphany,
my heart aches a song of lost periods of sleep,
a mirror so distorted to appreciate
and amidst all the hustle,
I comb my hair like a dead lady.
Peels of orange sun layered onto my womb,
defining a thing, unknown.
My mind stutters like a child,
Gulping the cobweb of chest aches and froth.
The beautiful sky has it
all wrapped around my small mind,
choking it to
ingest
ingest
ingest.
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