When Lived

November 30, 2015

My mind is a mass of broken glass

My soul is red and raw

My love is a cloud of mustard gas

My body is the law

My innocence sits in memories

My memories are lies

My wish is all to rest in peace

My prospects buzz with flies

And if I were not empty, all I would contain

Are the many types, the any types, the every types of pain.

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