Purple Circle - Against the Odds
Please peel off my paper skin, let this red ink drain from within. Color the sky and draw the ocean wide with pencil fingers, and sing with the birds. Am I right to call myself a writer of words? Do I deserve this typewriter serving me, typing verbs, pronouns, and adjectives dancing with compounds bound to sounds, dripping hips swerve around the curves. I do, I will, I am spilling my purple circles in circus like circuits, killing a purpose. Further I go, beyond the snow capped mountains and trickling fountains, I am here in this moment of sincerity, purity of all, the cure to the tall blackened trees, I will climb till my bones crack and my hair falls out, and my skin wrinkles. I am here to bleed for you all to see, grinding my limbs in gravel so grim, unraveling red ribbons of sin.
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