Qi, Quenched, Quechua

or, The Chase

Ex-Libra, current Scorpio, one day might become Aquarius;
I was happy dating Taurus but now think it’s Sagittarius
That can hunt off me my misery, carry me in tirelessly
Avenging, fixed and fixated on arrow, bowed and scarred
From dare to bare-oh,
Dan to barrow,
Iel to shallow
Shaolin, monas
Ter and wushu
Ing, scavenging for
Mercy in the
Slums of he my
Getaway.

Combine this hunger with what’s wrong there’s
Nothing I won’t mouth. I‘ve lost the count to what’s
Been tearing me from caring me, disrespect and
Bearing me from north to poor lit
Harbours, dampened beds and favours,
Hyperboles and dangers I’m still
Not equipped to handle.

Runts and uppercuts kned from
Khan bread, up and jumped from age instead,
Stage antics and act robotics in
Forgetting how to sip, to slip from
Memory.

I could say I’m fighting for
The men that came before me;
I could lie entirely from the
Martyr that they’ve made of me;

They have promised me
It all would end in bloodshed.

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