A Bruised Star

You showed me what was out There, you teased me with your magnificent eyepiece. You stepped back one to many times offering me a view of the Wylds.

It’s your fault my quills itch, my hollow bones scream to unfold my massive wings. But you spent the next few years forcing my eye closer into the lens forming a bruise that marked me a Vacant Dreamer.

And then you tell me you’re satisfied and you have no desires! How dare you offer me whispering hinges, my head on your breast as I dreamed of grasping and twisting the burning sun; Heavens Knob.

Now I suffer from some syndrome, an urge so violent it’s almost natural. I don’t want to be lost, I want to wander the back-roads. You’ve bragged and dangled a key for far too long; your dry dreams are now my thirsts.

I’m tired of you, you’re all talk. You’re too at ease on this life’s launching pad, you cling to me tightly like a molting addict, dragging me back into the nest.

Step away.

I’m dying.

I need to open my quivering wings

Stand back…


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