So I'll burst forth like a seismographic telegraph,
Churning forward verbs and nouns,
Begrudging the kind of adult looks you get
From people who are too scared to be honest.
The ones who yearn for the wild,
But are to rooted in the towing of the line.
To them I say: rip yourself out of your chair.
Breathe unknown air.
Lift your soul towards the simmering clouds
And feels how it is to burn yourself through
In cool, slow tempos.
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