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Death, whose guise is end to sorrow,
sells salvation 'til tomorrow.
September 17, 2022
Truth is,
As cliche as my opinion may seem.
I'm stubborn but in a unique way.
I've lost a lot to be particular in my hesitations.
I've been through enough disappointment to know better.
But the truth is,
I'm more afraid of losing me in someone who wouldn't love me for me.
Some say
Inspiration will find you
But it won't find you doing nothing
I disagree
I was doing nothing
Then I wrote this.
First, are you our sort of a person?
Do you wear
A glass eye, false teeth or a crutch,
A brace or a hook,
Rubber ******* or a rubber crotch,

Stitches to show something's missing? No, no? Then
How can we give you a thing?
Stop crying.
Open your hand.
Empty? Empty. Here is a hand

To fill it and willing
To bring teacups and roll away headaches
And do whatever you tell it.
Will you marry it?
It is guaranteed

To thumb shut your eyes at the end
And dissolve of sorrow.
We make new stock from the salt.
I notice you are stark naked.
How about this suit----

Black and stiff, but not a bad fit.
Will you marry it?
It is waterproof, shatterproof, proof
Against fire and bombs through the roof.
Believe me, they'll bury you in it.

Now your head, excuse me, is empty.
I have the ticket for that.
Come here, sweetie, out of the closet.
Well, what do you think of that ?
Naked as paper to start

But in twenty-five years she'll be silver,
In fifty, gold.
A living doll, everywhere you look.
It can sew, it can cook,
It can talk, talk , talk.

It works, there is nothing wrong with it.
You have a hole, it's a poultice.
You have an eye, it's an image.
My boy, it's your last resort.
Will you marry it, marry it, marry it.
Color floods to the spot, dull purple.
The rest of the body is all washed-out,
The color of pearl.

In a pit of a rock
The sea ***** obsessively,
One hollow thw whole sea's pivot.

The size of a fly,
The doom mark
Crawls down the wall.

The heart shuts,
The sea slides back,
The mirrors are sheeted.
it’s staring at the text
every day
but knowing they wouldn’t respond anyways
A slip,
loosening your grip
and you become
one
with the Sun and the stars
as you pirouette
through a million quasars
making your way
to the core.
This world of illusion
I walk like an alien
It feels a lot foreign
For nothing adds up.
Movement is free
but heavily charged,
I see paradoxes
in everything that's been said,
Nothing is completely true.
In relative world
We uphold the burden
Of being false
From other point of view,
I don't doubt
You don't agree with me
that's fine, is it?
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