Authenticity; a drop of LSD,
chemotherapy, the root of every evil.
Here, in my mind’s eye, I
cleanse the surface and peer through
glass. Plastic lens shakes,

God pretends
to calm me.

But I shake violently,
and the whispers in my head
scream silently, “who are you?”

Sunken rot bleeds into the pools
of the unconscious mind, contaminating
every facet.

Blood thirst.

An ecumenical first,
deity of sound and destructive waves,
clashing with the music I’ve been playing.

An egotistical serenade.

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