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Levitating Puzzle Pieces.

Questions remain: stigma
of my consciousness,
of a mind, stained. Unknowns
never recede,
only succeed in gaining
elaboration.

Cock the gun, draw
back on the bow,
punch in the secret
launch code.

Deep inhale,
now: gather strength
so as to scream
with all I have got, till
my throat bursts
open so I know

my power, show
myself just
how determined
I really am to own
this game.

So long
with nothing to show.
Not really. Certainty
is an elusive beast.
I have yet to hunt
it down.

Often,
too often I fear
the shy creature
is but a myth, that doubt
is my soulmate
and truth is a ruse,

that faith
in anything
anyway is a sharp
fucking blade
right to the throat
of any hope for sanity
that there may
be for me.

Survival is levitation:
all my puzzle pieces
up in the air,
spinning

like a whirlwind,
all colliding,
destined to never
find ground:

never
was there any chance
of putting
it all together.

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