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Morbid Expressions. 

I would exit
this path. Walk right off
the ledge. Embrace expiration,
both of your line

to the mob
of the shit-giving
and those that give a shit
with spine and heart.

I would exit this path
if I could, so I think
to myself. Then I follow
it, entirely blind

to who I really am. 

Expectations slaughtered
by the morbid
expressions of my flaws.

I’m the last to go
because that’s a funeral
that really stretches
out, digs
down

to ensure it kills me.

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