Blackened lungs, warm heart.

Mercy comes from unexpected places.

Friendship is a kind of mercy.

Full belly, warm bed,

No bugs bite me at night.

Therefore I am blessed.

Blessed by who?

Fate? Luck? Or the least likely,

Good intentions.

Free country, for the most part.

I do what I want.

Some rules are broken in justice.

Some are respected for best intentions.

Destined to leave, I will miss this ground.

Cold people, safe streets, mountains above.

Cozy and surrounded by familiarity,

I won’t make new footsteps here.

I must move on.

Leaving makes things raw,

Past ignitions surface like dying fish.

I see everything at once, like white noise,

Salt and pepper on the screen.

Like good curry, everything simmers.

People I’ve met are just passing ghosts.

Letters in words, words in lines.

Blackened lungs, hidden intentions,

Everyone has them.

Warm hearts are buried

In disguises so rough,

Those with social cataracts don’t ever see.