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Love Will Save You, I Heard, But It Won’t Save Me

The sound that rakes
my spirit plows my flimsy,
rotten body into mountains,

my crinkly spirit sailing undetected, above,
deluding my desires, spying the molten
bodies fixed beneath me, still inspiring the

mangled part that strives to sink into
a starless eternity, without fear, leaving me
wondering why I’m still breathing and why

music from concrete geniuses ices my
soul in orange heat that won’t
annihilate me, no matter the will, and my body

moving poorly, rotten man that I am, nothing
improving, self hatred fatiguing,
but still breathing, struggling to remember

that this was all a tortured gift.

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  1. #1 by Evelyn on October 27, 2016 - 10:50 am

    “struggling to remember

    that this was all a tortured gift.”

    Really great finish, has a got punch to support the rest of them poem.
    And different than I am used to, not such random word combinations…

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