Bullseye

When we've frustrated
like smokestacks on foggy days~ breath clouded over clouds.
Our insides pour over
feverishly aiming
but never hitting target.
Our eyesight is poor.
It was shame to reach for what had already rot and ran
and a demise to have forgotten to check.
Blessed were we on the day of our birth,
Cursed were we the day we first spoke
for that very day
manipulation became a possibility
and weakness inevitable.
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