Sunday, June 29, 2014


I feel like a casualty.
Did I step on a mine
Marked for martyrs?
Perhaps I lost only a limb
Or forfeited my brain.
So why do I seem so lost
And what is this boundless pain?
All that I hear is tuneless
Like the grating of dry chalk.
All that I see is formless
Like portraits by clowns and fools.
All that I smell is putrid
Like remnants of a flood.
All that I taste is bitter
Like soup stirred up by ghouls.
All that I touch is damned
Like the black soul within me.

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