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Mar 2010
Why do we value love?
Why are we incomplete?
If there is a God I hate him.
I feel cheap.
One half of a puzzle,
With no ******* piece.
Waiting for the fit of key to lock,
In a day never to be.

When I was young I could smile and mean it.
Now I’m old and its all fake.
Now I’m deaf and I can’t take it.
Now I’ve lost brothers, friends, mothers,
Now I’m mature.
And its not fair.
Its life, simply put,
A mistake.

It would be different if I wasn’t so self aware.
My greatest critic myself.
My cursed brilliance always looking, always finding,
Something new to hate, something else not perfect,
Never right, never good enough,
But never intent enough to change.

Self Destruction in the most cruel of ways,
I don’t even believe in belief,
Or in vision or faith.
It only goes lower,
Setting up myself higher,
For even greater pains.

I know your thinking,
Be happy it could be worse.
You could be a kid in Africa,
Starving or hurt.
Your naïve shutup.
You know it all freak.
What is worse say I,
To be starved in the body,
Or in heart and soul.

For the whip of the universe,
To caress your body,
Or break what it can’t take.
I belong to no one,
I am only mine.
But this is not a gift,
It’s a curse,
Of a unique unremedy,
Wherein I shall lie for eternity.
- From Birds Flying Into The Eclipse Of Mars
John Ashton Upston
Written by
John Ashton Upston
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