One in a million
Odds against my back
Laughter in my face
Winds at my side
A million eyes
Staring through
A blank canvas
Thirsty for paint
Isolation and dismay
The process of shrinking
Transparency my cloak
Dressed for battle
Aimed for triumph
Justified failure
A million to one
Odds are against me
Seasoning
Like a marinade
Preparation is key
Battle: me – in progress
Soft guitars
Strum melodies of famine
Pluck notes of fulfilment
In dresses of oil
Last man standing
In the tunnel sans light
Back roads and country smells
Soothe until regressed
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