Death

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The monster is my friend,
Byronic hero is my love,
All filth I can behold;
And desires I can quench.

My sympathy for lust,
This schizophrenic love,
All tendency for bile-
Feels far from bizarre.

Eccentric is my name;
I’ve accepted me that way.
Except for one or two-
Of my many many selves.

I’m the liar whom to eyes-
Of yours does lie with ease.
I’m the angel who has wings-
You can’t see; it’s very dark.

I’m a thief, your trust I steal-
The moment that you blink.
I’m the masked man-
A plentiful of masks!

I’m selfish as narcissus,
And lonely as a cloud-
Whose fate is buried deep-
In Poseidon’s darkened realm.

I’m the magic that there is;
In drops of blood & waxing moons.
I’m the ominous attendant-
Of this epoch of beguile.

This life of mine, this lie-
It’s time I threw in fire.
This me on end I’ve dragged-
It’s time I dropped and died.

It’s a legacy of awe,
Forgetfulness of fish.
It’s piracy of hope,
It’s not real, nor is it not.

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