Impersculate

My veins have capsized

drowing in their own fiery red

searing with the eternal implosion

called

impassive confusion.

 

The oven bells are ringing

calling the chickens home to roast.

If home is where the heart is

then I'll make my bed in the corner of hell,

and iron out the flames

that have eaten me inside out.

 

The two faced fate

found my soul,

broke my spirit,

but left me whole.

And all I can say

as my heart pulses away

is "Thank God, I was never alive."

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