There's a long-due conversation
that I still don't wanna face
cause it's got a mask of iron
and blood dripples from beneath.
Words are dead-ends
looks are bare
but what I fear the most
is the naked true aware:
sleep is sweet and fair
reality a spiky snare.
I want no pain
I yearn no panic
the thoughts afloat smell overripe:
why should I put them through my mouth
and bear their hype?
basking
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