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Great Escape of the Not-So-Self-Made Man.

Dug myself a hole
trying to break
out, a tunnel boring
into this frigid soil,

hard as concrete,
keep up the digging
despite bleeding fingers.

Working on a breakout,
fashioning my beloved conduit

to somewhere else,
anywhere else.
To anywhere but here.

So predictably, I fall
down, turns out I made
my own grave.
Pathetic cry for help.
Oh, my omnipresent
desperation.

Weak, dirty, pathetic
and lost little creature:
where do I belong?

Self-made man I am not.
Parasite that can only survive
through lifelines of sympathy,
pangs of guilt do nothing
for these kind hands.

Forever indebted,
circumstantial slave.
Feeling worthless,
suffocating shame,

fearing
all I have to offer
is my eternal,
explosive, naked,
embarrassment,

forever crying,
help me.

I want to be strong,
the mirror shows
me, painfully, honesty
revealing:

I am so weak.
Kill me.
I am so weak.

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