eyes up
I wake up tired,
it's a cynical rest,
don't sleep too much
else the cyclical test
of wasted time
will circle back
and tie my mind
in knots I'm terrified to unwind,
I pulled so hard and still no sign
of why it's impossible to find
that one blue wire, one
screw loose in place,
should've blew it off before, save face
while you bet less on golden fate,
less heart to take or breath to waste,
but hey, I burned it anyways,
I waved the smoke
into my lungs
and knowledge stung, but doubt: it choked;
new trees don't grow,
I was once told,
until the old have all burned down,
and well, if falling to the ground
is all to which I can amount,
then be the spark,
and I'll be the ash,
and there is just one thing I'll ask:
I killed my phoenix.
take yours back.
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