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Just a poem

Just a poem.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
Just a poem.
As like chest to chest becoming abreast,
These charged words bring order to those emotions,
Once deemed adversarial
Its the long awaited, well need
Ample seated burial
Where me, myself, I and Bryce
Stare as those incendiary emotions are extinguished by dirt.
Dirt.
Dirt.
Dirt. I shovel earth’s life giving substance,
I feed time to the dead.
I serve my past strong drinks,
Tell that nigga to take it to the head.
Under the intoxication of his tempestuous libation.
I write words.
I write rhyme schemes.
I feed him more Jim Beam’s.
I drown my past in the heaviest peace bringing liquor the world has known.
Happiness.

My words bring me joy.
Joy numbs the wounds.
Joy heals the sores.
Joy is the womb.
Joy cries no more.

Just a poem.
To bring order.
To bring order.

FKJR

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