the raw madness that makes me who I am
It amuses me when people ask
“How are you?”
Fortunately for us both
They never ask
“Who are you?”
For that answer relies upon a deep dive
Into the hollows of a heart
The scorched remains of a soul
A lonely walk
Through the darkness of youth
The crumbled “joy” of innocence
The malingering residue of defeat.
Do not ask who I am
Just leave me to further become
The residue of resurrection’s raw madness
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