Granules from a bittersweet reality sprinkle onto a smile I don’t ever want to lose. But, As I sweat, From walking miles on end, I’m always tempted to lick the corner of my lips, While left sour-faced by the taste of each sip, Of my own failures… Still, Sources of water are scarce for a martyr. A loner. A man with no other choice, But, To walk a path by himself, Even if it isn’t desired with the hand he was dealt…
Nonetheless, I’ve stumbled upon warriors who were bred by the same cloth I was. A piece of cloth with tints of blood, Soaked by the tears of parents with a tendency to shove, Us to the side for sins they shackle our wrists and ankles to… Scars to match while telling stories over bonfires sparked by the flames resting at ease within our disgruntled eyes…
And, All I can be is grateful. Grateful to encounter those alike, In a matrix where most zero in on the one they chose to mimic, And, Assimilate into. A simulacrum I refuse to be bound to as a wordsmith who, Was labeled a ‘Bad Man’ without a place in a world I reject, Either way… Maybe, It’s time to lay off of the sugar, And, Lose some weight in the process….
m3l0dicverse 
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