I wonder how many tire tracks
across my back will be enough before I stop caring how many times must I endure your belief I'm already dead a ghostly figure walking hidden halls Dreaming that I'm lying in the street being devoured by a pack of snarling dogs and you walk away and never look back while being led by your insane substantialist friends Learning about projection might save you from acting first then turning to others to see if they approve it would break your heart if they were on their phones searching for something to approve Never noticing the corner-eyed tear in your reflection or understanding that God seeks not approval but revelation joining opposites sans the self-satisfying glee of dividing Shouting from rooftops you seek to feel yourself as some sad kind of savior yet lack the pure water the prima materia that would help you save yourself from yourself |
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