Misassembled Limbs

Crawling up the limbs with roots tangled like the hair fraying on the backs of our hands
And aiming upwards a long with the claws that my teeth have become, digging harder

Screeching of the veins opening up as I reach closer, grabbing, grasping finally the destination of cloud winded galaxies

Brightly coloured shrapnel falling down as the winds pick up and drop me back onto my feet, lapping up the blood from the soot and soil, drenching in all it’s glory

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