Burn Coal Breathe Soul (Prose Poetry)

I must confess how utterly brilliant the flaring of nostrils seems to those who are entirely devoted to floating through the magnificent space between the infinitely etched lives moving at constant speeds of exhalation. Moreover the dreaded lack of backbone would better serve one who truly does not believe in anything aside from the grease between their knees and elbows. It takes more than spotted air to dot the lungs of those who actually breath as if there is more in a day than drinking and dying. Surfaced now is a blatant misunderstanding of who it is that creates empathy. There is no factory for the mission between your mind and your vision. You are the coal miner as well as the train. You can become fast if only you would destroy the very nature of obstacle. It is no fault of the coal that you are unable to fly. Invest in less grounded shoes.


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