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10 September 2023

lost

 the crudely crafted shank    of childish design     still cleaves your heart    and lacerates your mind         there is no shape to thought or moment      there’s no pleasurable release      or pyrrhic prize to salve your wounds     yours are the days of infected sharps       and twisted spoons     you know that you’ll succumb       despite your better self     and later assert that you went home      before the band lit up your favourite tune       temptation reeks of self deception        one more solid hit     and you’ll find the door      you lost yourself to dime bag reasoning      and sold your love for a winning smile       life goes on     you will survive     truth be told     you don’t really care     and I don’t seem to mind

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