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                                                       escape poems stories
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nefarious
nefarious nobody said living was easy
Autoplay OFF   •   8 months ago
where cynics go to die

escape

some days I can taste the colours of living,

savour the saltiness of tears rolling onto my tongue,

and revel in the sweetness of my mother's touch.

other days the saccharine is garish,

and I recoil into my skin upon human contiguity

contact comfort.

a n t h r o p o p h o b i a. t h r o p o p h o b i

t u c k e d a w a y

t u c k e d a w a y beneath my bed sheets,

co wering into a cavern of diffidence,

pyrr honi sm as a school for skept icism

thriving in the synapses of my brain.

huma nity exists to

f huma nity exists to

f a huma nity exists to

f a huma l nity exists to

f a huma l nity exists l to

behind e v e r y s m i l e i s malice,

rancour in reassurance

a c r i m o n y in each p o i s o n e d g l a n c e.

I a m c h a o s

we

we are chaos.

i n s i d e the mind is where cynics go to die.

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