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Cloudy


Air.
Water.
You combine to make a pillow for Sky's
bed.
So it can bask in Sun's rays or rest while
thunder preys.


Cluttered.
Hoarded.
Reminders collect to distract a mind from
Responsibility's stare.
So it won't burn a hole or admit truth.


Your consistency amazingly infuriates me.
Your avoidance tactics are studied by US
Representatives and Senators.
Yet you see nothing wrong with your
chaotic purpose.


Grey.
Full.
Condensation has reached his limit and can
no longer win the war against gravity.
Tears of joyous pain drop to earth's
reluctant skin.


Gray.
Consumed.
Memory has taken its last byte of activity
pie.
Space in Brain's computer freezes to control
the alternate deletion.


My patience is pissed with my
Performance's poor acting skills.
My happiness is hopping to the starting
line hoping to hear the gunshots shout
encouragement.


One day, I looked up to you and realized
that you hang out up there to deliver down
here because you can't handle what you
dish out.
But...today is the day I poke a heavy hole
in your puffy space in my life.


So I can see heaven and sanity clearly with
no clouds in sight.

Written by JW Bella

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