Stunted singers sad impressions Pale compared to the rigid flame Horizons deep and low, fluorescing Strung with lamps that lead to nowhere Pain is something, out there, waiting Stealing pleasure, consuming joy An empty warmth or bed of razors There is no camp with peace tonight
Tensions telling, tying tongues Down in boiling, brackish waters Lapping at the shores of reason Sore from too much damage done A trickle of some souls compassion Lifted to dry and desperate lips Hands caught cupped, consumed, conceiving Much too late to un-drink this brew
It is just a chemical imbalance Seared into the living brain Passions positioned and poisons poised Burnt crisp until the scar is made Crystalline and devious It holds only to its own code Retained and tight, a leash-less slave It will feast, drink deep, and sleep well this day
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