With very little
I roam for a sign
to rid my life of misfortune.
The sky above is dim;
insomnia haunts like clouds.
The first snowfall of childhood
was a path I wandered, as if
I was a sheep separated from
its flock. The further I wandered down
that path, the more I obscured myself
from everything I’d known. I was a sheep
whose wool inked black the further it traveled
away from its herd.
That path led me here, bad luck plaguing me
as I continue to wander for a sign. Purity and
innocence has been engulfed in darkness. White
snow corrupted by my blackened wool.
The shadows are all I can see, my skin has numbed
from the cold and the hurt. I can’t see my breath within
the frozen air.
I can’t sleep.
I can’t sleep.
I can’t sleep...
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