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Picture Credits:
Sifting the ashes
emboldens the death wish.
With them trickling
through my mind sieve,
I’m reluctant to breathe
or swallow.
Flashbacks to your flavors
only drives the kris in deeper
and gives it a sadistic twist.
And why must they swirl
through cobwebbed corridors
of my cranium
(resurrecting that giggling child I adored)
when I least expect it?
Even worse,
if I stir them up,
hauntings by your naked ghost
bend my brain to chaos
and render me racked
to bedlamic sniveldom.
I pray to be a desert,
where tears fry to mist
before they erode my dunes.
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