The Ghosts Of Ten Dead Men

We drop;
Like bags of sand to the floor.
I fear the best will happen
And the oppressive nature of success
Will crush me repeatedly
Into dust on packed dirt.

Do you have my best interests at heart?
Do i?

The overwhelming gravity
Which comes along with grief
Has forced me to “take to the sky”
And abandon as much of the psychic vampirism
As possible,

In favor of real family.

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