6 Oct

(to be read with a beat)

You may not attain me,
contain me, save me

Don’t bless me, lecture me
waste it on me.

Your words—a sieve
peeling my flesh,

You: like wind
by death.

Cruel, pompous
rigid like steel
You—I despise
Your schtick
Your spiel

Once inspired,
now live wired

belittled, battered
shapeless and tired

you talk
such boredom!

You, my morgue of God’s great splendor
carry no more
my divided nature.
A murderer of vision,
how did I not see?
the one who killed me, not you—but me.


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