This weightlessness hurts.
I soar toward the sky,
while my frustrations,
bruise ego.
A template of pain,
to match the love sick scars.
Eternal life,
in this damn,
ineffective body.
Swollen ankles,
closed up soul.
I can't remember the last time I asked for nothing in return.
To let go,
is harder than inviting in.
Will it ever get any easier?
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