| What are these lights coming through the cracks Dying with the setting of the sun Instruments blurring the last viable percent Maybe it's my ghost my soul my life Sent back to murder this vacant figure Of tissue and blood Of grueling revelations I love to see my blood run Because I am a mistake of nature A mad beast stalking the opaque moon A scholar of obsession and vulgarity There were surfaces falling in tune With the colors of the sky Like cesspools Maybe it was God Coming to say that he still loves me Maybe it was the flash of a nuclear detonation |
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