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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.


One response to “Cycles of Dark Humor. 

  1. Final punchline…how perfect!

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