slithering across paper
a litmus to the truth,
the hot, orange furnace
of the sun, a brand, a
mark in the aching
parallels of today, we partake
in the feast of punctuations
and the ripples they cause
upon words and thoughts,
the halt, stop, pause
awaiting the next scream
awaiting the next few
moments my sanity will
be lost out of so much hunger.
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