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Suave for the Spaghettified.

Into the rabbit
hole I come to run
again. I’m late, late:

cannot take
the numb, mocking death,
slowly swallowed

by this desensitization.
Go down this time
with wisdom earned,

all to find myself,
keep control
and profit from
my stinging, naked sincerity.

Face it, be strong.
You were wrong:
I am alive. It is only
that I do not, I never

I accept it. I can love
and fight. After all,
you were right:

it takes faith
to light the way
in my hours
of greatest desperation,

though it is not found
in any god, other soul,
substance or body:

only within myself.


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