Just by how much,

Should I push this
weight that sleeps
on my shoulders?

Should I attach a sugar cookie to a thin white line and launch it at my glutton of woes?

"Come get it, boy."

Will I become hysterical with the title of comedy while exposing the skeleton that harms my flesh?

Each shard scratching my temple with every footprint that sinks in Egyptian tombs.

Covered by the quicksand of tongues that humanity uses to bury the legacy into the after-thought of conspiracies?

When will I be the swavorsky Crystal's that glitter on the eyes that worships lust?

Is it that I am the eyes that settles in the corridor of society?

Am I just...

The If.

A human form named "after-birth" that dwells in the conscious of "If" and "What could be"

-CMCrain



© All Rights Reserved