Head drooped past my knees
A low-hanging waning crescent moon
Leaving the cold, unforgiving room
Smelling of the sweaty scent of self-disgust
The buck-shot decision, scattered justifications
On the very decision to enter the Satan’s cavern
Now I’m in emotional triage
Licking my wounds initiated an expensive infection
I spend a moment on each illogical illumination
“I’m bored” and “I’m lonely”
“It’s not the dumbest thing you’ve done this week, let alone ever, so why care?”
“It’ll be fun.”
Only as I leave the bright building
Built on dreams and nightmares alike
Do I finally regard my deceptive delusions
Which believes in the comical contrapositive
That my judgment is sound
In the light of the rising sun over the glittering towers of excess
Seeking fortune in a mining town
Now specializing in soul extraction
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