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Lifelong Pet Lie Rite.

Shadows dance.
Fire licks the night sky.
Donning the ritual masques,
we identify
with our pet lies.

Twisted fictions
become our lives
as we dance and chant
‘round this ember
in the darkness
and its fluid
breaks of chaos.

Swim there.
Let it sting.
Let it penetrate.
Be complete.

Let yourself saturate.
Stop chasing your tail,
running from yourself
and just look

deep inside:
a lone eye
at the heart
of a pair
of blossoming,
bipolar petals of a dual mind.

So: silence.
Trust in the process.

Drink your poison.
Breathe the smoke.
Chant your mantras.

Don’t fear the voices
of the damned and damning
echoing in your head,
as they are irrelevant.

You are so
much more than them.

Wearing these masques
in the dark, looking ‘round a light,
dancing, chanting,
occasionally lost to why…

We can wake up
to see we
live outside
the story.


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