inside the world an owl's eyes dart back and down the
midnight lane,
shadows stretch behind the moonshone walls
and cling to the palm of a sweaty man's hand
as he rubs himself raw in a dimly lit corner wearing
his sister's bra and whistling distant hymns that
rhyme within him;
abstract introspection:
an ear to the ground, stuffed with cotton,
it playfully hovers around his
ripped lips
only
wishes itself never spoken
depression has its hold on me;
a miserable grasp, wild and fulfilling,
shaking with anger despite itself,
tonguing the remains of my
ghostly flesh,
as the world watches something else.
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