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Rated: E · Poetry · Philosophy · #2166101
poem about the fragility of where one stands.
Dear journal,

I- have hurt myself; again.

Cut my mind on idealism.

Bled marked pragmatism,

Cried an empty nihilism.


Air waves wrap tight around bloody

Wrists, the red soaked skin absorbs noisy

Poison, flows crimson,

Strays darker…

Stoke the fire,

Coal is black,

Death has come,

Knocking at your..

I feel choked.

Perpetuating humanity,

The single nature of love and care,

While just out there I ruffled your hair.

Proof of unison,

Un je forme,

Fall to the floor in ashes,

One carriage, a closed journey.

With wonderfully bright plastic views,

Try, to fool my filter to believe,

These plastic truths.

May I take a photograph?

And pray that someone finds me.
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