A open window’s tonal pitches,
Scream into empty rooms,
Unpleasant frequencies penetrate through the wall,
I wish to be deaf.

Mother spoke of an ending world,
The smell of earth’s breath reeked of turmoil,
The sparking lines hug burning trees like fine fit coils,
The weighted rain promotes the storms worth,
From which gave chaos birth,
And granted peace a quick death,
I wish I was deaf.

The piercing sounds of shattered glass cut through the beating drums of the active ears,
The reactive eyes to hyperactive tears,
That pour like tilted cups,
From overwhelmed tear ducts,
Sore eyes now strain from now not much,
But a painfully bright light that forces eyes shut,
I wish I was blind.

Yells of torment drench the streets,
Entrenched in an array of different heats,
That carefully scorch the feet completely,
And pull the numb meat discretely,
Away from your torched toes and burnt feet,
From inflamed buildings the people leap,
Into homed buildings the smoke seeps,
Mama always spoke of the ending days,
When the sky would be broken and filled with deeper grays,
The cemeteries empty and roads blocked with
steep graves,
Mother, joked of in clever ways,
As smoke fills home, mother prays,
I grab her sleeve, mother prays,
I grab my brother, mother prays,
As these walls concave mother prayed,
I wish I was blind.

By breath, we are forsaken,
By theft, we are taken,
By death, we are mistaken,
Unconscious we are but building a home in our minds,
That cannot be taken by mankind,
That cannot be dated by time,
That is just and divine,
Robust and highly inclined,
Like pink necks of flamingos,
With a bit of curve the house shows,
The peace holds our breath,
We slept, for hours,
To wake to white,
No sound hugging with evidence of no sight,
I slept.


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