Hopscotch

something or someone I can’t name made me sit down to this game,
A winner at life but a carcass of blame.

Bundle the stars, the planets and the cosmos behind your eyes,
And toss with fate for not, it’s unwise.

Leap over the blithe gravel of white coloured stones,

Land on a valley of roses, petunias and queer skin and bones

Flying inbetween the coarse lines of who we are and what we can be,
A stage where the actors are our consciences and the script is written by fidelity,

but the actors continue to change the dialogue,
Skipping to the last viscous block,

Where lies fate’s incessant monologue.

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