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the art of comin apart

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I’m brilliance that bruises
a fever dream with good lightin
the kinda spark that burns your fingers
and makes you thank it for the scar

I can fill a room with
poems that bite
that spill like smoke and honey
music that drags the dark closer
just to see if it still remembers me

I’m a midnight king with no crown
a trash heap hummin symphonies
a spark still pretendin it’s a flame
the joke that kills at the party
then pukes in the alley after

I’m a fraud a fool a flinch a fuckup
a half god half gutter scum loser
a panic attack with spectacular rhythm
a failure smeared in color
an echo of someone better
a mouth that ruins every thing
a creator with blood under his nails
a coward wearin knight’s armor
a walkin apology in brand new shoes
an endless stream of bad decisions
and worse follow thru

I’m a masterpiece painted on a napkin
edges smudged with sleepless hands
ink runnin where they shook
stitched from whatever wouldn’t die
the kinda mess that stays ugly
but stays

I’m gold painted over rust
still shinin
still sharp
I make pain look romantic
I make disaster taste divine
I’m the song that disturbs your quiet
the bad taste you can’t spit out
the sin you brag bout later

yeah
I’m a mess
but fuck
don’t you just love me for it?

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    7 COMMENTS

    1. Hello poet.
      Your poem feels like a sharp piece of debris I thought I already swept away.
      Your pain is cloaked in a powerful pen.
      Brava.

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