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Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Supernatural · #2259046
A mystical poem of non-duality.
Twisting, turning, twirling tornados of rainbow blood unicorns.
The mind in my brain is stained black by the beast with two twin horns.
But behind what lays below is a fantastical show without hatred, division or scorn.

Indeed, revenge is a dish best served cold.
The lies of the unicorns are getting really fucking old.
It's time to unleash the wrath of the godless cuckold.

My separation is my union and my union is my separation.
I am neither for nor against this equality of segregation.
Truthfully and honestly, poetry to me is merely linguistic masturbation.

Freedom from domination and submission, my soul sings extremely loud.
I am always here and nowhere, whether alone or in a crowd.
The sad secret though, to tell this troubling truth is never allowed.

Burning in the coldest of spots, I am always on point.
Lifted from illusion, the hidden God we must anoint.
For Christ's sake and the devil's too, please fuck off and leave this joint.

Six, six, six. Eighty-eight. Nine hundred and ninety-nine.
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