faces in wood grain

blacklisted



Stubborn orifices of steel block my vision.
I am tapped;
though malignantly, not dripping.
Cosmic joke.
Clots of core being
surge out of my system,
lumping my cauliflower veins with yesterday
and liquefying said obstructions tomorrow.
In this fashion,
my core self has been leaving me
alone, hardly breathing
in a mire of self-pity.
My soul, I fear, now clumps,
petrified by judgment
and withering into tumors of former ambition.
It remains imprisoned by my frenzied ego
who’s encrusted by the fear that simmers with
the rite of internal suicide.
Jump.

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