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Interior design.

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Interior design.

Fascination with the small pain,
Self inflicted, not out of hate,
Flows from the deceased, a stain
Red and pungent,
The smell always comes late,
Natural velcro developed to the mouth song
Of a Plant of beauty.
A curiosity stems from boredom
And lack of feeling
Destined to the regressive duty
Unconsciously applied by train of thought’s scheming.
I know what I ought,
I know what I long for,
I dream of impossibility,
The chance to fly unaided through a hailstorm of ice,
Lightning and hurricanes with the grace
Of tumbling dice.
My train frequently and erratically returns;
She resolves me, she strengthens me,
Combined they provide a foreseeable relief
From the rhetoric reality
I seem to have found upon this newly turned leaf.
I slumber and ramble,
Ponder and tumble
Dip, dive, bounce and rebound,
Laying myself to rest for brief
And untimely periods -
Hare joins Hound,
Adam forgives Eve,
My mind is a surreal world’s sieve
For both wickedness and love.

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