Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

Everything else in the world that blows...

You are no picnic.
The sun blares down upon
Your tormented skin.
You play the victim by night,
By day, you are the wind.
The leaves rustle around,
Crashing into one another and
I am reminded of you and everything
Else in the world that blows.
I grow tired, throw the shutters
Open to let the house breathe, but
Twilight is a thick soup,
Spreading into the house with
Slow movement, such calmness,
A storm of light and dark.
The kind, the care, walking
Hand and hand as I wretch in the
Steam of your bewilderment.
I love the rain, it is pouring in
To flood me out.
Stepping in the deep water, my
Heart is flowing and about to drown.
I let death be swift and carry me away.
As I lay in mourning, I miss the clouds.
Only my head is cloudy, the rest of
The world has been drained.


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Everything else in the world that blows...

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