I sit on a chair - the colour of which
matches the coat I am wearing -
keeping warm in the fog of
my dreams -
underneath a cloud whose
BOLTS OF LIGHTNING crash
down, encrusted with crisp
outer layers of
hope -
I ache for the day when the
monstrous cloud disappears - to make
way for the overwhelming sound of
fruition to ring through my
ears - then I'll collapse into a
state of joy -
another swig of
liquor to that, I say!
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