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Apr 2016
I'm dying,
Feeling the comforting cloud of death
doing flip-flops through my strain.
Energy bursts are useless attempts
     at frosting flakes of panic and regrets.
Curt instructions from a dangerous smile.

Cloud of death. Your mysterious tension
        caresses every
        blood-vein in my body.
My lungs restrict,
my lungs constrict.
Empty shallow boxes
      filled with the nothing of

Can’t anyone see? Does anybody know?

     have the
      slightest idea
       of just how
           can be?

So let me go. So leave me alone.
Let the fibres of believing unravel,
        slip apart
        cracked glass
          about to
I'm hurting.
Disillusioned membranes zoning into silence.
The self-illusion so palpable and strong.
      is for people
             who have
                   flowers to grow.
Chris G Vaillancourt
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