Untitled

I need no wings
I can fly regardless
of the regality of
my state of mind.
I look up to the sky
as though there’s
a presence watching
down on me but
all I see is archetypes
of angles in flights.
Hmm! I say archetypes
of angels in flights
but really
aphrodisiac parasites
eating me from within
causing me to aphesis,
like the gradual loss of I in
intimacy between you and I

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