Self-Inflicted [04-30-02]

This disease is
gnawing at my veins.

Sweet ammonia
sorted, sifted,
branded me again.

I am wanted,
never needed;
here I'm offering

my humbled pride
for warmth, a
lullaby for suffering.

Where, my dreamer,
should we wander,
lost upon these seas?

Following the
wicked current,
windswept melodies,

and other, softer
strands of laughter,
drifting to my ears.

I'll wait, I'll bury
my beration
in these longer years

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