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FICKLESMACK
I / Am me. / MY / Toes, / Wiggle them / Out the window. / Shh...no one has to know.
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Waiting for the End
And here I stand Open hand The heavens bleed on my palm I wait The burn I sweat Life verified by this heat My mind seared with opiate memories I pace Embittered, waiting for death Stalling till my last breath Epicurean termination, my fingertips tingle The void nears I halt…
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Chasing Snow
Caught with fingertips Into droplets, These streaking diamonds Recount memories That can never be reclaimed. The banks besmear In dirt and dust, Render to mud What the past Recalls pristine, Maybe even divine, In its blinding sheen. I run from that which Chills with a remembering warmth. Now settling into…