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jadgged Edges

I run my fingers over jagged edges
and look to you
as if to say
this is alright
as you stand there
watching me bleed

if only, my darling
you could see
what i see
oh open your eyes
and look

FOR I AM GREAT'
and why should i not be
is it not ok
to feel like a god
is it a sin
to feel unshakable
indestructible beauty
and truth

And all-though my fingers
run over jagged edges
rather than polished marble
i see whats real
while you hide behind
your palaces, cars
and wasteful halls

so here i stay
unmoved by requests
of reassimilation

fuck you
i cry to the north
i kind of like
the gritty taste
of these jagged edges

so thank you
in a weird minimalstic way

Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing stage: 

Comments

what this work is all about, but I will hazard a guess that it concerns a country divided. Even though I may be wrong about that, I see a great deal of potential in your writing. You made me think, which is a good thing! ~ Geezer

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I'm not sure I understood this. A very sick man killing himself in his madness?

W. H. Snow

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley

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