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#abjection
He spoke it all into existence and now he dreadfully merits his quiet. *Words do nothing for me He quietly echoes They leave him lost Like dismayed homes        You cannot heed him  For he is the silence Which reeks of ire Do not try and plead him For your abjection Is his sole desire In opposition to the will He held her hands Like a broken clock No time for compromise No time to stop Words are nothing to you He loudly utters Words are everything to me She struggles to mutter Intrusion proceeds Denuding her garden Walls shadow A penalizing truth He cannot be pardon.***
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Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 11:30 AM UTC
Rapine
I have a confession to make, I said. I drink to forget all That my failings and foibles beget. Sobriety Sends me to most fitful sleep. No rest for he who in his unwaking hours Mulls over the wine of his life, which he sours With his own cork of guilt and self-conscience. All mine self-confidence Derives from Contradictions repressing. Catatonic sleep of great notoriety Is my limbo, my heaven, perchance my sick death. The Removal of a blot on the face of this land should solicit, I fear, cornet Mouthed angels to sound clarion of victory. If I was religious I should become a flagellant invigilate most excellent Flayed as the poacher would the pheasant. And the landowner would the poacher. Silence from both. I take a drought from my drink, she a small sip. She looks at me and I look a way. Do you want me to pay for this? She asks. Just the tip Quoth I. Another drought and a sip. Another. I break down. I have nothing to believe in, To believe in foul dogma to wash my soul of sin I find repugnant. Belief in Progress and people and The wonder of Nature is akin to praying to the inconstant sand Castle made by the hand of a passing child. Belief in my girlfriend! More my love’s greatest failure To grant her the care and affection she deserves Due to my sand castle of pride in which I do serve. And thus do I say, to purge all my lust There’s only one way, in Self-disgust I trust.
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Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 4:42 PM UTC
XI. In Self-disgust I trust