It

  • He swirls the rising smoke

    From his burning lies

    Never letting It fly far enough

    To the blinking skies

    It drops down defeated

    Hiding It's cheeks from his blow

    Standing up, It's legs wobble unsteadily

    Like a newly born doe

    All It wants is to be free

    From It's home of chackles

    To finally reach the stars

    But It only finds his cackles

    His hand swirls and swirls

    Until he's sure there's nothing

    He takes another drag

    Like the wolf; huffing and puffing

     

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