revelation of the day:
Noah is alive and challenged,
only his ark appears to be
merely a sunken ship now
my lungs are soaked
in this filthy,weeping weather
and breathing is a chore
of misplaced tears
the few flowers I can find
are on my pillowcase,
while the sole lighthouse in this silent storm
resides in noble miracles
on the ceiling-
I could just swear the mold in my mind
has blossomed into royal crowns
of angry despair
the wind-a howl
that brands your cheeks
with crimson
the people-faulty pawns
with fleeting perspectives
of damned redemption
myself-a sullen ghost
which the past would
mourn
the clouds are dripping endlessly
and Noah fled the scene-
we're humidly doomed
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