A pen in hand, bleeding through shivering fingers,

Races to the paper’s edge, false promises and empty strokes linger

Still, ghosting the decimated canvas.

People staring with awkward smiles and cautious glances,

Hoping they could escape the pathetic person they see, who dances

Eagerly with predictability and self-deprecation.

Pretend, pretend they have no power until the lie

Sets in, no longer alien, morphine for the corpse who refuses to die,

All pain and suffering the marks of one’s life.




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