identity splintered between

non-fiction and written word I’m

plundering history to be

more of a beast than I believe

I hide my face covered with

misplaced cues to all the scores

of scars that beveled up over

me like the hues of a blasted moon

I’m all hook marks and bruised

never knew it would ever be true

that I’d come to this crossroad

between the past and bliss

where I could choose to be damned

or say fuck it and skip to the end

of this epic I’ve written with deeds

that keep happening falling down

stairs into tragedies

and blasting my way past each

imaginary adversary never raising

a hand to the reality that keeps me

bound and bound to be found out

one day my identity will split and I’ll

flounder about on the deck of this

sinking ship that I’ve tied myself to

is it enough to keep moving

enough to not sink when I’m already

drowning in my own doubt

it will make a difference if I flail about

but its about time I made it

made a difference to my own clout



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