By: Athea Ly
In the centre, it was meant to land,
Yet commenced ahead, a silent command.
Caught in a riddle, stress took its hold,
No peace found in the story it told.
Fragile to melting, hues from brown to red,
Aches everywhere, a cycle misled.
Reverse rhythms, abnormal and sly,
Mine rolled on like marbles, oh my.
Should have halted it, just yesterday,
Roasted untimely, leftovers in play.
Impairs to settle, debts to bear,
Behind my livers, sins laid bare.
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