Getting older, John the Savage
seems less and less romantic,
as I'm forced to forever remind myself
that my mind is an empty forest;
and it was twenty odd hours in
that the sunrise freed itself
from the grotesquerie of bitter contrast,
and as I rushed with nicotine and endorphins,
laughter freed itself from some foreign mouth
as I basked in submission
and had my night of groping search
put to lovely shame
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