Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

Miracles make me sick

My words are honey,
Thick and sticky,
Sweet and see through.

Take it with a grain of salt.

When I mourn, inchoate thoughts
Fall like a plague upon the masses.

Forlorn and looking
Meaning under rocks, I find only
The maggots that entertain the dirt,
Positioning themselves to change
From ugly to annoying.

The waxing moon so bright,
I get the courage to bid farewell
The old haunts that dirty up my vision.


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Miracles make me sick

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