Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

The Nihilarian

I acquiesced,
My options limited
In the fen of my mind.
Atrabilious,
Rotten hands that touch,
The copacetic feel
Of a razorblade.
How I wish to be
The nihilarian,
Sorting through the muck.
Scars so selcouth,
Beautiful and ugly,
I exude the truth.
For no good reason,
Nothing is done.
 
7-11-11


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The Nihilarian

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