The sky falls today,
whimsical clouds now filled with woe.
The burning cigarette behind pastel blues,
has been butt out.
I push forward following
the sound of tear drops,
which carry on for miles.
Not unlike the bloodstained shoes upon my feet.
Shrapnel embedded in my toes,
from the self-inflicted shotgun blast
"Can I continue this journey?"
A question I often ask myself.
My gears grind,
much like that of a clock.
Though my hands of time,
are worn to the bone.
Thoughts running wild,
like wounded prey, I try to
count my paces with precision,
this trek will end soon.
Laces tangle beneath me.
a mouth full of dirt and sand.
Standing erect seems now,
to be nothing more than a pipedream.
My sky has fallen,
carry on or burn out like the rest.
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