Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

In These Compacted Corners Are The Throes Of The Wistful

Placebos, I've swallowed
Like candy, to eat away at
The often invisible pain.

How physical the scars
Have gotten,
How blunt the weapon,
That stabbing produces only
Bruises and not
Penetration and blood,
And once again, I've
Failed at murdering
My own self.

I'll run away and hide
In a cavern of lies,
Impenetrable, so that
Knives and noses can't
Prod their way through.

February 10th, 2007
Suge


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In These Compacted Corners Are The Throes Of The Wistful

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