Flake

Aug 19

1 min read

A thousand hands have passed

Through days and days and days all

Wrapped around swords and

Cupped to faces

Chiseling the marble that

Becomes me

My bones ache with the wait

Of ages

Of grief and love and

Time

Perhaps I strain so

A stone desperate to be

Flesh and blood and breathing

What do I owe them except everything

I am

only what I choose to take? or

Like the stars I love here distantly

Am I fate

Fleeting, spun

Inevitably

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