Ground Your Self

Vague sacraments are offered
to lonely strangers
on a waterbed
of nails
but no one
I mean no one
cares enough about
the next sentiment
that should be offered to
yourself.

Touchstones made of travesty
and bloody burgundy
make up the superficial
existential vapor
that hangs itself
like a necklace made of necks
around rope pulled
to bring no one
I mean no one
anything that you couldn’t
have brought
yourself.

Summer showers
too sudden to know
where they were going
asked the blue sky
if there was enough space
to pass by the ground
and no one
I mean no one
could hear the cloud burst
that washed away the ground
and took everything
that the ground should have taken
for itself.

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