I am sitting on the edge of the world and it moves toward its end as I feel it in slow motion.
The colors are blurred, a shine breaks into a million glass pieces, drawing blood from the skin of anyone who cannot run.
I wonder what will the mosaic look like on the other side.
Who will stop the bleeding? The tourniquet isn’t enough as red gushes into our seas, reducing us to rubble and bone.
I fly away again, this time on less than perhaps ever before. I am in the fire, and under pressure to over come and perhaps I am failing as I am flailing for a soft landing.
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