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Disturbed

Roads

By Marc McAlisterPublished 7 years ago 1 min read
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I need some substance

reluctantly ready

trying to keep my hand steady

my body now feels heavy

in two minutes flat

I am prepared to flatline

what is and should never be

constantly held in front on me

through these eyes I see

twisted selfish realities

I can't help but feel

I can't help but need

stuck in my ways for the rest of my days

slipping gripping pricking stinging

blood drips

veins rip

stomach turns

eyes water and skin burns

Awaiting your turn

moving forward with little to no concerns

surreal poetry
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