If you looked inside my heart,

the exterior lining would be

black and blue,

The blood would sort of

lose its crimson red,

and show strains of yellow

and purple swell.

If you glanced inside my brain,

the pain would be a strain,

as all that could be seen

is a mishmash of unguided

synapse bouncing off

one another with no

particular sequence.

I suppose they call that confusion,

when the ego so beaten down,

finds it impossible to breathe,

only waits for the final cleave

to chop through all the bullshit,

and let us find a place to breathe

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