On their own

When
in the midst
of serenity, the
stomach, of its own
volition, writhes in agony.

When in response, the mind
of its own volition, beckons wildly
to vision, stale but savory smiles,
smiles, and the heart of
its own volition,
anchors itself
to tear
drop shaped
anvils. A breath
in cahoots with existence,
chants the falling anvil into
a haste as it crashes through the
thinly layered joy we have been
draped in.

Then our weakened
eyes rise to
a door ajar, and
hand to the
air in a
blue wave.

Good bye serenity.
Please do visit again.

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