This showing of fallibilities,

a mingling of broken people

all belonging together

in their conscious graspings

at fantasy,

at escape,

at amnesia.


I too am fallible,

possibly the worst of them all.

They at least devise practices

by which to cope,

to embrace the jagged edges of themselves

and eachother.


I’d rather sit within it all,

fain some sort of perfection,

abstain from admittance

into their sureality

and of true self-examination.


You see,

I’m a liar,

and nothing is so filthy

as one who knows the truth

and yet shares a shadow.


They share their truth



“Here I am!

Yeah, I’m fucked up!”


It’s this aspect of self-deprecation,

that submitting to

the part of me I repulse,

that I cannot accept.

It’s kissing defeat,

and it never stops at a kiss.


Photo by Elijah O’Donnell on Unsplash.

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