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When you inhale, every particle in the universe goes up your nose.
Or so you think.
The world is only turning because it's disoriented after you exhale.
That's why I don't deserve you, oh holy one.
I am just a minuscule morsel in space, and you breathe me and everything else in, giving us reason to live.
It is you who turns the world and breathes life and really matters.
Or else ******* for acting as such.
I'm a scapegoat, sacrificed
for all the slang and slander;
the sinister sinners scar me, sickeningly.

I'm bathing in this sombreness;
my appetite is spoiled by the solemn wind.
The future is sullied by those savages;
now my outlook is sullen.

I'm squirming, succumbing
to the suffocation.
My body and heart separate,
and tomorrow you can plan my sepulture.
What lies beyond the labyrinth,

near the palazzo by the sea?

What defines the walls,

allowing the maze to be?

Is there time to stop and rest within,

while trying to escape?

Are there any shortcuts through,

like spaces agape?
There is no map leading the way,

you must sort through alone.

The journey is so arduous,

while the outcome stays unknown.

As you grow weak and tired,

your legs feel numb and dull.

You won't know how you even got there,

but it is inevitable.

You've noticed the blue of the sky above,

but you cannot see the sun.

You feel a sense of urgency,

but know it unwise to run.

Dark clouds softly pepper the sky,

and you fear potential rain.

You slightly quicken your pace,

instantly increasing the pain.

You spot the end and cannot decide -

run there, or walk on.

Sprint, you choose, then collapse in the sand,

noticing the pain is gone.

A beautiful beach is what you see,

you deem it your safe haven.

You turn your eyes up to the sky,

and spot a dark bird - a raven.

— The End —