Pseudocide

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  • Loss

    Pseudocide

    Left alone to gaze on myself

    And what I am to everyone else

    Flipping pages I was afraid of

    Disgusted at what I’m truly made of

    A selfish glutton, feeding my own lusts

    Devouring love, loyalty, and trust

    Staring inward to the abyss

    Surely no god would have ever made this

    Without the comfort of a heart

    Piece by piece, I was taken apart

    Driven to madness by life’s embrace

    A slave to memories I can’t erase

    Bound in chains of my own making

    Quietly listening to the sanity breaking

    Charitably alone with my secret affliction

    Safe in the arms of my addiction

    Pouring myself out in words and tears

    Topping back off with sex and fear

    Alone and getting on my own nerves

    Maybe what I really deserve

    Which will it be, the pen or the knife

    To write the story of my life

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    The true philosopher and the true poet are one, and a beauty, which is truth, and a truth, which is beauty, is the aim of both.

    Ralph Waldo Emerson, American Poet (1803-1882)

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