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Hey poor boy from the far 80s 
Was it 16 or 17 when you got stuck?
You dug a hole so deep and fell in it.
Agreed it was warm , protective 
except that your whole adulthood was  blocked . 
You had your chances , you had your talents 
you let them rot .
And now you ride on that  red flying horse
among young bloods 
too much smoke , too much old bones.
Some evil child once told me , he took you to the crazy house 
and he felt your use of erotic images was overboard.
He laughed at you , but I didn’t 
because only a monster  would celebrate any pain coming from the guts of a friend . 
Shame I said nothing , 
but again like you would say :
-it wasn’t my business but your mistake .
And now you walk on flimsy panels of concrete 
and  now you stalk and now you cuss.
And now you talk about little girls 
that ate too much candy , 
you call them sad because you get it .
You see,  I know you ate all that candy too,
but instead of reaching for the light
you dug that hole and paralyzed your soul . 
And that is how , I find myself 
relentlessly entangled in your monologue .
There is no shame in cutting heads 
of bratty player boys .
What killed the cat was not curiosity 
but hateful words . 
 And from those I gave them none .
So dear poor boy from the far 80s , 
become a man , untie your soul ,
Happiness , sadness,  that is your choice. 
My incantation: I wish you gone .
Never pick fights with a survivor, 
in life , only one time the heart is broken 
and after that , the flesh gets rough 
and we start over .
there are no schemes 
but  only freedom to love again , to fail again , to celebrate  the everlasting beauty of not giving a damn anymore.

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