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he’s just another suicide case, really it’s nothing to worry about
mindful relapses to yester-years yesterday.
angel halo stuffed up my ass. would you have ever guessed it if
he wouldn’t have licked it?
delusions of grandeur forgot their
make up. allowing the haggard minutes
to form stocks
in wasted hours.
flat landscape profiles his
flat-lined
brain.
knowing this is the final show
where the sunrise opens it’s fingers,
singing show tunes of disintegration.
darkening the whites of his eyes
over raw marrow breakfasts.
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