(Damn formatting.

I think I'm exhausted; I got carried away again.

Think I like this.

My brain has gone to shit.

Am I supposed to be angry? I'm just tired.)

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Decadent Detachment Reversal

December 16, 2011

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Cut off at the crossroads,

caught between wires that shock

with ecstatic pulsing electricity,

and barbed wire bitties that gnaw

and don't let go.

.

I was only making my way,

making it back, trying to prove my lively existence

when a swivel of oak branches and a

crackling of handmade thunder brought me to stop

nearby the river, but not close enough to feel

the drifting, escaping water drip-droplets.

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And I know it was homemade, man-made

because of the scuff marks set across

the roots and torn dirt of it's base,

the souls escaped like greedily hungry prisoners

and they could feel nothing, being just clumps of

emotion and memory.

So they just ran

and flew

away.

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There the long-legged, weary headed passerby stood

grasping her baskets, shaking in shell shocked fear,

by the looming leaf terraces and tall tree columns.

I felt like a Greek God

burning at my

prosecution.

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Laying low like a morning's dewy fog,

the sound settled and cradled itself to slumber

finding dream peace in my crushing complex.

Daring to look, daring to allow reflex to take it's action

she (I) looked to attain, fearful of the knowledge,

but embracing the hesitant, tremor evolving truth.

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That man-making, tree breaking bandit, soul saviour

stood in black market bandanna's and blue jeans,

with eyes too dark and hair so long it faded in the light.

That thunder gatherer, defiant, sinning,

sickly grinning seamstress of souls stood

suffocating laughs away from crisp clean air,

stifling all sound to me, because I faced my own

existence one on one. As she drew her sword and sliced

the branches above me, I fell from limb to sodden limb,

crushed like almond butter crisp.

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I lay on my knees, begging these

soggy wooden limbs not to abandon me,

But I sunk thigh-deep into ravenously churning

sandstone that melted me into its embrace like chocolate.

I was the cherry, to this Enticers evening dinner fondue.

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Watching as I took wide steps towards myself,

(a twisted mirror not even Alice would have entered)

I stifled tears, but felt rage burn in stagnant arteries,

and she smiled upon me, being prettier than I was,

then tore the mask off my face, baring twin flesh features.

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I would have had the earth swallow me then,

but I looked into the reflective glass, as the

defiant grin grew to be my own, slicing across

deeply pale skin. I lost track of who I was.

The burning in her blood became the burning in mine,

the stinging in my grey matter thoughts became the

hurt and contempt in hers. She saw me truly naked,

and then consumed me whole.

.

The intrusively burning branches ambled their way

between bone and joint, bursting bursa, enticing

arthritis and ache. And when the world was done using me,

I sat upon those crossroads (for they had become crossroads)

and briefly began on where I should continue on to.

But buried beneath, there sat a girl, who anguished in the

thought. Watching precedent replay like living nightmares,

like twisted hell.

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Where to go next?

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(Note: bursa- a liquid filled sac found in your joints to reduce friction and improve movement between tendons and bones. If you care.)