are not we all
                  rebels,
though too afraid
to fight, too afraid
to feel the rush
of fates we choose
                  ourselves?

lonely world        lonely
for reasons you cannot understand — longing
in that timid way
for a little room
                  to breathe

i will feel the chill,
the cold dark known only to the day,
upon my back, my shoulders,
the wreckage of my heart;
and i will feel it leave
when halos of fire
descend upon the crown
of my bruised head:
looking, as always,
                  skyward

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