Thursday, October 13, 2016


I am not the soul that spits in pain or danger's face.
I'm the trembling fast heart beat of a small bird, that slips through your fingers in flight for fear of an unbearable fate.
It's not death that frightens, but disregard and disdainful abandonment.
How I admire the swarthy tough soul that challenges a fight.
But, it's only curious observation, since I can't be anything but me.

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