had hands of rage, had the
soft glow of a martyr
debated god with the
sick and the crippled
everything is within your reach,
you see, andthen you piss it all away
you stay fucked up for so long
that the idea of getting cleanscares the hell out of you
look in the mirror and
the poem is about me
stare at the sun long enough
and the infinite becomes visible
don’t trust in words
don’t put your faith
in the intangible
not all absence is an
emptiness waiting to be filled
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