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I don’t like it
anymore –
this skin upon
my face, my bones.

I want the blue twilight
to be my flesh instead
or the midnight sky
with all its stars
and no thought of me.

And as for every act
I once thought highly of,
I want instead to forget
where I’ve been
or where I wanted to be.

I cast my cares
upon the pyre
and all my wishes, too.
I watch them
burst into flame,
and only as
they burn
do I cherish them.

And already I see
the ashes floating
away from me,
tossed from
wave to wave,
glitter on the foam,
so soon to spiral down
into the vast blue sea.