Metamorphosis



At three I sit 
At three I sit here. 
At three I lay here 
At two-fifty nine. 

Past time 
Last time 
One blind rhyme after another lover 
Of some triumphant discover-y

And it lays flaccid 
Plagued with agony 
Only winded by the silence 
After each breath is taken 
One step forward is forgotten 
Paralyzed by hope.  

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