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all of time and space

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laughing through stardust,
and running through the universe’s skin,
living in its flesh, not a parasite but a bandage -
he grew weary
and hiding death behind
glee and brightness
made his painted front crumble, erode
as he ceased to be
or even pretend to be
the saviour, the wondrous or bold.
he curled up in darkness,
boxed up in a smaller-on-the-outside home
looking out above sadness and
carrying out a drought,
filling holes with apathy and bothering not
to be whimsical or whatever the long, big lost word was
the very sad word
for the very sad man.

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