Air

Never the feeling of need touches my innocent soul,

Until he,

The menace who drags humanity through life by shackle,

Digs his claws into that resting innocence.

But, with that gruesome clasp,

He chuckles, gurgling a sickening reality.

From those globules of air arise the irritants from our breath’s trail,

And that innocent oasis is infested with the refuse of urgency.

Yet,

Never remains the feeling of need for me.

Unless,

Decimated is my own –

Crushed by the brute resembling my forgotten purity.

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