my mess

ruptures and more to come

i have hidden in the ports

of the world while trying

to sew up the wounds

i have an awful tune

stuck in my crop

to be a truck driver

sounds like perfection

rambling work, rolling work

the sillouettes of who i was

dance around me

announcing the end

calling me back to

watch the same horrors

but i keep my eyes closed

and choose a path

at random

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