6.06


my smile has grown lewd with depravity
my growth does not need restraint anymore
i am fed with sour doubt and terror

in soothing words and touches of care
i have felt only poor relief from
the asperity of being and the despair of being not.

suffers the bud under the pressure of fate
to break the sprout and stretch out into the air
to grow accustomed to the confirming confinement.

because i wish to break open the pain
the ice cold blade of thought incises the abscess
perhaps that will free the pleasure?

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