Favilla Mayhearth

October 12
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Mockeries of Destiny

Islands of clouds stalk my white, loosely held destiny.
Underneath queen's ring lay pale skin and fragile arteries,
Weak pale queen skin to replicate my overall customs - me.
Proud to be a surface for character-characteristic mockery.

Atrophied I lay in my skin, as decayed veins beneath queen's ring.
I don't wear pearls, I am no queen;
Need no servants, not a queen -
I only seek light.
Up and about within this light, I'm sent into endless sandy rooms,
Waves with no name scream and cry, venture me for tides,
And I'm never concluded to simply one tide - I love all,
Love all drops in waves,
I love all shifts in tides.

Unlike the mockery that I am, waves to understand how you might feel
To be a passer-by through phrases, not know it's you who speaks,
To be a hollow globe of clouds, fossilized in cold white breeze.
Stained glass windows reach my clouding,
Clouded my sight would freeze.

Destiny's a gruesome scavenger of exhaustion and of torment;
Days into insomnia,
I'm grateful
I'm one less day away,
One more night into the end.
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