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BlueEpocha

Twenty-five degrees

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Twenty-five degrees

My skin glistens with beads of sweat

Amid the heat that scorches my core

My eyes increase in sensitivity to the full headlight sore

I feel like a lover waiting in vain as I scan the horizon

Wizen for a shelter but see none in sight

Ignite I can feel grains of sand on my parched lips

As the seconds drip in the hourglass that sips all that is in me

Strip the skin and see my veins resembling the cracked sidewalk

That locks beneath me increasing in size

Just as my shadow lies as a fake shade

Because trust has been betrayed by the wind

Skinned it gives me no breeze to have made

My mind processing one thought at a time

Climbs silently screaming “feet don’t fail me nowâ€

The low horizon reflects waves of heat that make surviving a beat in terror

As the mirror image of me takes note of what has been wrote

“Eyes don’t fail me now†to see the rote that has been memorized by repetition

As turning the lights off has become a mission

The permission to heave a sigh of relief

As each face becomes the mold of grief

The reef leading me away from the magical world

The belief of the naked inside my head

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