The Fly upon my Shoulder

And the fly upon my shoulder
resting its wings and it stings
and makes a bump to blush
on my skin that grows older.

And the sun upon my shoulder
testing my sins and it brings
me closer to the quiet and to hush
on my brim that grows bolder.

And the rain upon my shoulder
wrestling, hits and tears me down
but instead of drowning- starts to wash
off the smell of death and its decay scent.

All the pain upon my shoulder
battling to swim naked in my gown
but in my head wings grow in rayed torment
to fly away from all the hazzle and the crush.

All in vain thereon my shoulder
struggling to carry sacred sin without a frown –
composure to stay quiet cutting in best intent
while my blood frostbitten chills and grows colder.

All alone and all in twain
my mortal muscle beneathe my shoulder
bursts and splits just within this memory
of the smell of formaline and the flicker of the light
I won’t betray my sanity, I can’t stand this kind of energy
and combat my compassion to wisely better lower.

Fall, remain, thereon regain, avouching for the weight within
may be a featherweight for one but heavy so on mine
the smell of death and rotting paws in formaline-
I will not carry this frigidity – upon my joyful spine.


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