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Heretextual Heresy

August 15, 2019

The perspicacity of a mind dwindles
amongst the need of the body
from sex and drugs with stale meaninglessness.
We just assume that this is what life was made for
but we sadly just fall for our fruitless nature.

The dirge marches and we’re just existing
for a reason that we just can’t put our digit on
but we try and it’s sad and vexing.
The sheepishness of our vapid thoughts
finger what’s left of our damaged glands.

‘nother year, ‘nother life and time stagger on with no quip but catachresis.
Another fear of our strife as life stammers in understanding its own crisis.

 

From → Poems

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