the blank page is too resilient an enemy
to be killed at just one sitting
it takes countless murders
to set this right
and what a good day to die
and the enemy is us
and we are but ourselves
and crap my friend, cause it's all shit
we produce soup bone renown
paper will mildew
iron will rust
and worms shall rue the flesh
then those who spurned us from the garden will mock
so like unto God are we
and what is man that thou art mindful and
from whence comes this mad impulse and
let me hasten the pale rider
or
I could give up death
and all my other loves
but
I don't know how that looks
or what that means
.
.
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