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Naked & Paranoid.

Spill blood in ink,
rat-a-tat-tat through hunt-and-peck,
smear it in paint, pastel, graphite.

Publish and perish.

Honesty is the best policy
maybe
when seeking assisted suicide.

Sensitive skin exposed
to the world, free
to lick, kiss, bite, lacerate.

Flank available for the blade.
Neck naked, asking for the noose.
No umbrellas for a rain of bullets,
so I suppose you’re free

to storm me, rumble
earth with a growl
and strike me down.

On-point mockery betrays
your attention to detail,
your passion
in study of the target
in question:

yours truly.

Ego death, ego growth,
I just don’t know what I need.
Clearly you do, know-it-all.

So fucking feed me.

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