I remember
The thrill of writing
Lightening-rod-real
Those first few
Those first few
Poetry dance mmmms
The disgust, almost
Like raw beef
African savage sincerity
Kinda exciting
In a fetish-like way
The ache has become serious now
moved Inward, stomach curled
Barf.
I'm not surprised by what
I say
I just know
I hate
The taste
But then again
I kinda like it
Here, in this clinic of
Self pity hate
There's no curiosity
But there's endless space
For the hope
That a drop of it
Could change
Everything
And hope
Is a well-cooked
Cow of comfort
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