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Greg’s Imprint.

Fingers glide
upon this wood
before me, intimate
with the door

behind which I conceal
an anxiety-ridden, paralyzed,
dissociated body that would only serve
as yet another thick log

to feed the fire of rage
this monster is fueled
by. Religious. Authoritarian.
Sociopathic. Socialized psychopath.
Cult leader. Guru.
Politician in the motherfucking making.

Then he meets this consciousness.
Comes face to face
with this fucking fucked-up kind of mind.
Finally feels the brunt
of this ruthless awareness. In response,

he ignores, goes on
to enact all his gruesome, dismally infectious
horrors, the disease
that persists within me, obscures me still today.

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