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dedication
and as they wrote in ashes across my forehead
i wondered if these fabricated speakers knew the thoughts festering and breeding behind me
such a delectable sin?
it was a corrective autopsy.
euphoria running down my spine,
another puzzle piece pelvis ground to:
a halt, a dust...
each convoluted moment spawns self immolation
every movement of your mouth: hypocrisy
and every breath of mine a little death to grow cold on a page,
some perverse pornography,
on which those little men with morbid curiosity peruse
you may have made me who i am,
but i will be what you can never truly have.
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