aromatic petals waft into the mind’s display
sowing memories of life unto the heart’s array
hands that never idle draw upon this weary face
siphoning the spirit, carapace soon turns to waste
thoughts endearing, dwindle like a spindle spiralling on
fraught with fears like kindling tends the tender fire till dawn
helpless to observe the truths impressed upon our flesh
soft and supple, weak and wary, worn under duress
standing on the pillaged past to peer into our fate
captured in reflections to which we cannot relate
poised upon the precipice of poignancy implied
haunted by the visions of our truth idealized



Your flow is on fleek.
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