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Dec 2019
The world is composed of things I will never understand
Disparate, uncolliding flows envelope me in nausea
Globalized apparatuses peaking in a way lost of me
What I hold
What I desire
Is a Frankenstein amalgam who’s purity was supplemented for progress long ago
Everyday we stray further from the light that birthed us

Entropy be my metronomic master
Lacerate my back always
Hedonism divert my will
The void of that allows only the whipping pangs in
You exist without pause
Process tells me I’m one with you
Diamond compressing isolation tells me no
Is all it says
No to all
Nothing exists but finer needlepoint disparity
Shirk false logic
False unity, emancipatory potential
All that’s known is mourning
Before your own funeral

Tear my soul
Gaping wound laid open for the sun to pour inside
Hands to pour inside grasping deeper
Past guts
Pull the incision wider
As wide as you can, your ghoulish hands
What do you find?
Tell me there’s something!
You won’t tell me
Yet you look
You’ve left me

I’ll lay mutilated
Bleeding Edge
Written by
Bleeding Edge  The Woods
(The Woods)   
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