Socket
I give until I explode in a blackout rage on a makeshift
stage in the
middle of nowhere.
Like a fruitless pursuit I ache for bruises from no one, and
there
Ain’t no audience now.
Still
I’ll make a grown man cry and laugh
about it like a cruel demon waiting for the sky to
fall back to hell.
But I’ll get back up again
and cast this play
on pixilated words that can’t
misspell.
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