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Escape from the Morbid Circus.

Dependent, controlled,
hung by a noose
fashioned by your puppet strings.
Gather ’round,
watch my dance of death throes,

forever hanging,
gazing into the abyss

Just let me go.

I’ll learn to fly before hitting
bottom or accept my fate,
find some solace.
Seems there is no
other way.

Made my own grave
just running in place.
Failure secured in inaction.

Locked in, screaming
till the throat ruptures,
all to kick the soul awake,
shake off the numbness
of an anesthetized will.

I’m not dying here.
Nothing is etched in stone.
Fate is what we make it.

Pushing through
the pins and needles.
Life aches like a funny bone,
though I’m not laughing.
If your world has answers,
they are not to questions
I’m asking.

I’ll make my own way,
find my own place,
I won’t play the slave forever.

I’ll learn to fly,
to rise above
your death,
to true liberty,
live in integrity
far above this morbid circus.


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