used to be
a black fabric anarchist
dressed in veldt of delusions
and rose petals
working at being kind.
got shot up
in this hospital
for being nice
so i said fuck them
and they thought i was sane again.
i wish i could kid around
like when i was twenty one
but all i got now are bruises shaped
like patches of Africa
where I lost my first fiance
to a year of terrible travel
in the navel affinity of letters
i would rather not burn
or see again.
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