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Aug 2014
The country just outside the city, a good place for me to hide
Swallowing Xanax with 40oz's, swallowing my pride
To all those people taking it in stride
How bitterly I loathe thee
Your adjunct faith sickens me
In abject jealousy
Truly yours

Here I sit crushed like the cans underneath me
Smashed like the empty bottles I threw from 10th floor windows
If you throw it hard enough you can hear it crash into the river below
The sound of settling, sinking cement laden feet
Food for fish to grow
To be cast over so easily, as these glass encased temporary lies
Were it that I was not such a coward
All shallow cuts and shallow gestures
Washing down empty overdoses in vain vacillating hope
For a new death
Duke Thompson
Written by
Duke Thompson  Above the clouds
(Above the clouds)   
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