What would be the point if I lied?
There is no changing the fact that I have traversed
This earth as a single entity
Bound to shadows and the damp grey mists of
Uncomfort and sunless mornings.
Speaking concerns to ink that plays tricks on
Paper and tells him riddles.
Everything I view is full of color.
Noise that irritates the retinas, but sings harmony
To the brain that is a box of crayons.
It is me and the lonely sound of one heartbeat.
Mine.
I am quickly loosing interests in all the things that
Once brought joy to this island.
Like the lasting effects of heroin
I sing the body electric then fade to a new
Phase far from the first.
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