Self-loathing
He said fuck you to the mirror
Went to the garden
to send curses to the moon
He tripped down the roots of trees
in the brick lane
as he put his hand to the
pocket of his trench coat
let some magic dust out the misty air
rolled a fistful of greens and folded it with paper
and acts as if he is a stranger to all the
sin he's been chewing
Breathe. Breathe in the monster.
Until you bleed the answer.
Breathe. Breathe in the power.
This kingdom will soon be sour.
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