As the lights show up above the mountains.
I hear my own heart being sewn, but that’s after being ripped of the last stitches that have proven unworthy.
Unfit, or just failed because the rains of mass confusion have ruled by the incoming tide of that hour, that minute and day.
This tar, as me half dead.
Dreading all I say, think or do.
Functioning like some fucking Robot that came to destroy everything-
I’ve built by cutting the strings to the moon & to my very own self worth.
I, myself say nothing for mute seems best.
Like the watch dogs that stare off in the darkest of woods,
being ready to eat whoever trespasses.
But for me, that ice patch I found, chipped even more.
Cold waters seems, to the last of this beating heart.
Three cheers for me.
– Maleaha
The Great Far North Poet 