I had an ache that I thought was just sad.

And that was still acceptable.

A paltry flaw in otherwise perfect eternal potential.

Not a door, nor window. Merely a scratch.

That feeling I had that I thought was sad, turned out to be mad.

The crack deepened and my shamefacedness grew thin. I thought myself spoiling.

Cracking apart, Disintegrating.

But instead of ailing ochre and putrefied possibilities.

I found a bird of darkest night, whose feathers reflected kaleidoscopes in the newly found light.

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Reincarnations