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The Sun, My God
Jaded
Hated
Nauseated
Nothing, nothing, nothing
I am nothing!
Dammit.
Am I truly defined by this suffering?
Maybe to the divine, the loving.
Someone once asked if I remember my dreams.
Well I don’t know, it seems
as though when I dream, I overflow
with salt and snow
It melts in my chest
and freezes over because cold is what I know best.
So I go
and I run.
I run until I lose track of where I’d begun,
Stare intently at the sun, the god of no preacher or nun
My God.
Because to the divine, the loving
I am nothing.
I am jaded
hated
nauseated
and defined by my suffering.
A word to the wise,
when you happen across bitter eyes,
Stop and apologize.
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