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Cycles of Dark Humor. 

All my lives were a joke,
none too well-received
by my broken mind.

Laughter shall come, or
so they insist, do the math:
tragedy plus time… 

Womb to tomb, from cradle to grave.
Drift from the death rattle, back to the natal cry. 
When will I awaken from this dizzying,
fucked up dream, rise toward my thirst: insight?

As I struggle against the current,
try to rise despite gravity,
break through the sky,

I realize that when its all
said and done, this life may be the one
to serve as the awaited punchline.

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One response to “Cycles of Dark Humor. 

  1. Final punchline…how perfect!

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