To the sun

I am no better than a speck of dust on autumn leaves

in a dirty pile on grey forgotten middle of nowhere.

I am no better than a drop of water in a rig of oil

fiddling because I want to make a stir.

Can I shoot myself in a leg to cripple what I have never achieved?

Can I live with a silenced adjustment to myself?

I am now a better human!

Blindly spray faux spit: I pray till I believe.

I adjusted myself, I’ll adapt as an autumn leaf,

Dreaming of a flight to the sun as cathartic redemption.

I have done all to earn my place

On the first class seat, may the sun be my eternal hell.

 

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