143.

The wind catches speed,
Into the open wounds that bleed.

Scars on my arm and face,
Develop from years opposite of grace.

I’ve been a monster and I’m ashamed.
I am a lion, who needed to be tamed.

I feel estranged, from this grand land at times.
But my spirit is withstanding, all blows from bombs or mines.

I run into storms, I cling onto flames.
I’m headed strong but my arm is stained.

Blood runs deep, while scars run steep.
I need a gold chain, I need a fast drink.

I sip my wine, I often, dream and think.
Expanding my mind, I soften, my spleen and wink –

At the devil who schemes and says that my fortune won’t manifest.

God didn’t hand me less,
He just gave me lessons, deeper than the ocean.

Now I am focused, a black lotus.