Farewell my friends,
I’m going to stop there.
The air smells of madness
and I’ve forgotten the words
that once nourished
the red of my lips.
The tree inside my chest
is turning to pure shining gold,
I can feel its ore
flying off the flesh,
each note
flying off the page.
There are things too incandescent
for reality to carry them,
the flame, out of the frail
holy square has been stolen
—  it feels so old a pain.
I am kneeling here
as the world watches it
disappear with a smile
—  and nothing after.
I can speak in no voice
other than a scream.

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