No title

Shivering with anticipation I fear,
I might do something I regret.
Pain on my hand that eeks
down my wrist.
So I’ll chop it off.
Amputate before infection
Spreads.

If I let it,                       If I let it.
God Forbid,
I might die                      I might die.
God Forbid,

But time moves faster than infection and we all need to make a move.
maybe, not all, but I do, I need to make a move soon, but not far and I think I’ve gone and done it anyway.

I’ve shouted a big old get on with it as I leave it up to the old gods of my hometown and find some NEW gods in a far away city.
The furthest I could go without a passport.

I start to thrive, I starved never.
I starved never.
I starved never.

I move with so much gratitude it’s leaking out of my self-inflicted sores.
and melding into the drinking water of my new city…
that doesn’t need a lesson like my old as it seems to get on with it faster
and whether I like it or not,
far beyond my control,
easier to get a grip on and let myself drift on,
and let myself drift on and let myself drift on and let myself drift on
down the river of insolence as I have never starved in my life but wish to wither and hope I don’t die but love the thought of the romanticism of aching
melancholy.

So I commit myself to life and its finer things when I can afford them
&
Let that misery and those regrets ebb and flow with the tide.
As my soul grows into something pure and real which I strive to own
Wholly one day and make it mine
like a selfish hoarder with nothing better to do than to collect
&
steal trinkets.

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