Kagedama

roots grow deep
beneath the surface of lost bones,
of broken skulls, empty flesh,
of simple human needs:
eat, drink, fuck, sleep…
repeat.

of pills digested in your throat,
(for a while) to take the pain away,
in booze,
in lights that dance in
blue and red
and red and blue
and blue again

then black.

dark, plain,
buzzing in the ears
like knock-knocks in the door;
home– I never left.
home…

breath gets swallowed before it leaves lungs:
sore tissue, sore facial expression, sore voice,
like crystals breaking on a soft surface
to become meaningless words.

warm,
warm,
warmer…
I don’t need touch for this, only presence.
“Hi! Are you me?”
“Yes!”
“Can I hug you?”
“No…”

this matters! – but only when awake.
other times with it you create daffodil fields
to hide from your mind what your mind craves.

robotic, simpleton,
in love with everything that enters the sight.
one is never enough, two are too much.

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