I write as I
promise and as I roar
the proclivities
of our lives-
little
circulations in our bodies
making us
animals, making us men.
One girl
falls short of her truths,
But no one
knows her inners
There is no
courage burying
the dead,
just the insanity of lives.
The beautiful
masks we adore
ourselves into,
can’t save us, nor
the pills of
any worldly love.
Everybody lies
and the lie is the sole truth.
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