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The Blessed Wreck

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posted on Oct, 24 2016 @ 05:20 PM
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The Blessed wreck

Daily grind

Got to somehow free my mind

Chains and shackles

Locks no keys

Lying in a burning pile of dying leaves

Contortions bent on cruel designs

Seeping thoughts both black and benign

Melting masks upon our broken face

Who are we?

What is this place?

Why does it seem I am but a slave

Working to defend my wage

Fingers clawed to bloody stumps

Throat choked tight with anxious lumps

Breathing freely seems a memory

Distant fading through the dark

Who am I to ask for more?

Wake each day with more than most

Then the cycle begins once more

Eating me alive

Shredding skin and bone

I am reduced to nothing more

Than a gore of frothy mess

Who am I to ask for more?




posted on Oct, 24 2016 @ 06:26 PM
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a reply to: CagliostroTheGreat

You are You! There is no other reason that that, to ask for MORE!!!

Nice Job here! I like it!!!


Oh. Remember this is just a Ride. You can get off at any time and find another Ride.
They all go where You want to anyway, so You might as well just stay on this one!!



posted on Oct, 24 2016 @ 07:17 PM
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a reply to: CagliostroTheGreat

I love your poetry, another great one.




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