A Captive Shelter

Pack your memories… and leave, for I am tired of putting each memory to sleep every night so they do not resurrect from their eternal slumber. I am motionless under the rain…it is pouring on me, and I am soaked in my rags without a shelter, left to dissolve into the particles of mud filling the pathway to where my home is. I am creeping…I am creeping slower than a fading reptile on the coarse asphalt of your weather’s cruelty. I creep back into my bones and I shutter into million pieces. O, I wish I was the real Adam’s Eve; I trust he would re-build my pieces and restore the dignity of a proud beauty I once were. Yet, do I find a shelter? It is cynical to believe you might have stolen it among my belongings. Do you belong at all? Do you belong to anything…or anyone? Are you the beast? Or maybe more than a beast…I hope you know that even beasts have their ways of communicating gratitude. Makes loyalty possessed by evil in your dictionary.  Remember the time when you were lost in your own map and I torched your way to your destination? You nearly kissed the back of my palm, on your knees, thousand times, like slaves do when set free. An image, alas, won’t uncaptivate the memory, so I swiftly see the Saharan’s prideful hospitality to the blue-eyed colonist, back in the days when peace could slip through the corners of war and hope reincarnates in every passing moment.

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