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Nothing Is True
My mother’s womb is the ocean. I cover my dreams, and suspicions in foundation. I have been darker than a doomed room, broken home that sometimes glistens. When I listen to silence, I am breathing in bright rhythms, paying visits to pacific parts of my heart, untouched by ugly aspects. Nothing is true, when everything…
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There Is No Hope Of A Cure
I set fire to myself, in my sleep, sometimes. Pouring out all my rage, swimming under the sheets, dreaming, waiting, nestling into night time, and the freedom it brings, being blissfully unconscious, until I hear a good night, returning home, and I recall, being young, being eager to enjoy each night, in case another one…