Red and grey flowing through my thoughts,
a shower of blood and tears.
Disassociation from the world that they call real;
still fucked, still overwhelmed.
Pressed to run across the page in pain
I reach the point where the the thoughs
of the sleepless night before the day
can only make things worse.
The executioner's axe silently falls swiftly,
and splits the balanced chi in two.
poem by ambAngel
photo by diversify
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