he kept them
all at arms length
just far enough away
to be disconnected
but close enough
to touch.
maybe it feels good
to be free,
no existential guilt,
for a small fee.
no level too low,
or place your soul can go
swallow the sword
but gag on the hilt.
like trying to graft a sapling
on to a burned out tree,
praying for light while
feeding disease.
the match snuffs out
like a rockets flare
failing in
our atmosphere.
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