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In the Wake of the Raw.

Blast awake
in the aftermath
with self-loathing
closing in.

Maybe I
should just take down
the transmitter, save it all,
delete my messages
from the public eye
and plant my mind’s soles

once more:
another name,
a different place.

Exposing all my madness,
or spewing boozed words
for years,
perhaps I should wipe
the slate clean,
try and start again.

Always embarrassing myself. Indecent exposure of my insanity.
I could do it right this time,
open a new chapter
characterized by stability,
no more soul-killing
in the wake of the raw.

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