Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

I find the damp a welcome...

I'm retching up the darkened red
From my broken lungs, waiting for my heart
To spew forth such fetid blood.
My eyes roll into the back of my skull
And only crossbones keep me from dreaming.
When I awake, if I awake, the morning is damp.

My mind spews mold from the damp
Corners, the fleeting red
As present as an old photograph, dreaming
Of reality and stabbing the heart
With morale. The pounding in my skull,
A kind of bliss until out pours the blood.

And with such sweetening blood
Comes the welts of a damp
Memory, fleeting for a moment till my skull
Drips with another poisonous red.
I beat the disgust from my heart,
Knowing that love can be born from dreaming.

And in the brutal dreams,
A scheme comes boiling my blood
And sickening my vile heart.
A heart so damp
As mine, I hide in the red
And feel the guilt prick my skull.

Out of my skull,
And into the dreaming.
Following the ills of red
Stained hands courting blood
So special, so hollow, that my dampened
Ideas fall to shatters, as does my heart.

But it is my heart
That pumps me full of venomous hope, my skull
Filled with questions too damp
With the ooze of dreaming
That they stop the very blood
That falters in my veins a smitten red.

My heart still dreaming,
This skull smattered with blood,
I find the damp a welcome from the red.


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I find the damp a welcome...

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