falling further from a rEality that never was,
i twiSt my body To rendezvous with a frigid mAss of resentment.
Lies turn smiling eyes into daggers that pierce deep.
twist.
bleed.
joints cracK as brittle promises waIl of sweet nothiNgs.
a mind Grasps for air that IS not existent.
Blunt traumA of a Docile creature.
Yet the idea is found in the mountains and large masses
among the small ideas.
Search.
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