I sit atop the wind
in black spaces
among ruined valleys
that I built.
The wind licks my face,
teases my senses
for something more.
It pulls me to a direction,
in the pitch of dark
the anticipation nips at my neck,
the dread tears into my guts,
and the uncertainty fashions me a joug.
It is made just for me,
so warm, so comforting.
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