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Mutilated Lives

Drip... A bead drips down my brow.
The days aren't getting any colder
Tired and wary I lay on the floor.
The still moments making me slightly older.

Drip....A bead flows down my chin.
The nostalgia hits me hard.
The sagacious dreams of my youth.
Seem pretentious ramblings of a listless bard.

Drip...As it wets my neck.
The guilt of a thousand tribulations weighs me down
The light at the end seems hazy
And thorns adorn the image of the anticipated crown.

Drip..It rolls down my arms
The words come slower now
Mutilated in the squalor of my existence
They have abandoned me with my thoughts in tow.

Drip...I hear a splash
The journey has reached its end
The bead rolls along the floor
Mutilated before I could make amends.

I gaze away and clear the smoke
And a lonely stupor engulfs me in its thrall
I roll around
And wait for another bead to fall.


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