
The line of my skin is burning
A shape I can’t fathom
What’s inside is outside
Xeric conditions.
In the land of origin
My own essence is lost.
The little flight gathered
Under my wings is gone.
Questions are left in their wake
A dry, dry land with no air
Day or night
Just a burning sun
What’s outside is inside.
I am cold from within.
~insight07
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