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Amplitude
Glistening in you palm,
A simple shining blade.
Scalpel or a razor,
Sharp to spit my flesh,
To make me into you.
Shadows in your dreamscape,
And nightmares in my head.
We whisper lost prerequisites,
And sample broken fares,
But in the end, its on your head.
Contortion of reality,
Bound but not beheld.
Loathed through the fear of it,
And never brought to light,
Though a sunset is in your eyes.
Everything has ceased,
The silence is so loud.
A complaint of inadequacy,
Uttered for a charlatan,
Will the prophets listen?
Copyright ©
Saint Alphonse
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