A Structure, Richat

Sometimes.
You want to climb.
Inside.
Never come out.

Sometimes.
You wonder, whether.
The anesthetic will be better.

If you added.
A little something.
Round and solid.
Could you fly?
A Scarlet Letter?
In and through, the widening gyre.

Burn with the Sun!
And I, fall to the ground!
In a pile of sudden ashes.
Reanimation has begun!
Within.
Would you even care at all?

If away.
Blew you.
Did the wind?

Would you?
Mind reconnection?
From the senses.
Sell yourself.
On the wings.
Of numb bisection.

Burning, the One!
And I fall to the knees!
In a mass of sullen chances!
Mutilation has begun!
And I, sterilize my own reflection!
Would you even care at all?

If away.
Blew you.
Did the wind.

Sort of congenial.
Sort of wrong.
And in its grasp.
Difficult to tear away.
Never mind the broken pilot.
Did the zephyr, blow you astray?

Sober with intoxication.
I want to touch these.
Paralyzed and vacant eyes.
Fractured by hallucinations.
Hidden but from in the skies.
Their zeniths are, really teething.
Careful of a bloodshot reasons.
Cause the bite, is worse than breathing.

Burn with the Sun!
And I, fall to the ground!
In a pile of sudden ashes.
Reanimation has begun!
Again.
Would you even care at all?

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