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A picture 
of a dead man,
Living in his sleep

Dreaming of
tomorrows,
Broken promises
Won’t keep.

Threading veins of
Glory with
Boozy shots of
Praise

Elevating imagery,
Muddling the
Maze.

Fingering a victim
Shrouded in a trance,

Kissing bloody fingers,
Signifying romance.

Splinter
Storm
Strike
Reform

Eat the human race.
They don’t know
The images
That lifeless eyes have traced.

Building up
Allegiances
Beyond the
Customed lot

Forging happy
Faces,
Sharing spirits from
the pot.

Eat the lamb’s wool,
Tie the knot,
Bite the battered pangs

Delightfully, you’ve been
Denied the liveliness
Of fame.

You’d fall victim
Once again,
And further still
You’d dive

Into a coma,
Built with bone,
A suffocating hive.

A sepulcher of dingy
Rot,
Rocking back in
Time,

Have you forgotten,
Dearest one,
That you were once
In mine?

A picture of a
Dead man,
Lying still,
In place.

If only I could
See your eyes,
and hit that
Weary face. 

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