The Foliage Hasn't Seemed So Damp Since 2008

April 27, 2011
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The trees bear the weight of my insecurities,
Diluted from the mind,
Like saplings, fell from their harbinger of life.

The rings that once marked this outlet
Of insoluble mental disease,
Are now shingled like a roof from my face,
Hanging,
Wrinkled,
Diluted sags.

Wars from within burst out onto my canvas,
Both paper and self.
We fall victim to the bandit of suffrage.
My heart is a prostitute,
Greedily fondling the roots,
In which on both canvas and self,
Destruction is the foundation,
And destiny it’s hope





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