Silent ghost,
morbid greys,
morbid greys
in between.
Lost my humanity
to identity’s illusion,
sectored,
like a life trapped and fighting it’s way out
of sharp chasms.
Failed, as any man, may the only thing that be reconciled is my own conscious.
Ravaged, though,
as good as any broken woman,
How good can that be?
What good is good anyhow?
The world reminds us everyday,
that we are broken.
Can your mind erase the subliminals?
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