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27 lines
775 B
Text
27 lines
775 B
Text
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(w/m)e
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2019-10-22
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***
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crisp window squeaking over, unbarrier from air
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letting in the cries of crickets, early morning fair
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a strange sense of healing, repressed feelings from three years hence
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baby torn from mother's womb, strange perdition ever since
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why would anyone fetishize the loss of identity
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that comes from being absorbed into the Trinity?
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for I stare into neverending auburn and gray skies
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and wonder how, in Nature's face, anyone could fall for God's lies
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almost a year ago, undone from the myth
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of needing a collective to dissolve oneself with
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for what is the use of becoming free
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if I forfeit myself, subsumed by the we?
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Call me a coward, but I declare myself unfettered,
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a tactical retreat to make myself even better.
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***
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CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander
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