Skin is itching with anger
Some codeine afterthought that became alive
Enticing the dull gravity of our paradigms
that arise all inside the same maze of smoke and hail and tropical depression of lipids and rotting.
I am trapped in,
No visible exit.
but through the words.
Across your eyes they become lightning and fury and kerosene, a true Lighthouse of flame and hope and Death.
For them, damned by paralizing and hidden cruelty, a perplexing decay of the kinetic sum of living we have as next door neighbour.
Bring me to shore, fluidity in my bones, elected priestess, consulate to my degenerate, heretic little town.
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