Soul Ripper


Ive lost what makes me unique

because I speak in my sleep

and the prowling prying ears

were all to eager

to steal my secrets away.

They replicate my visions

with visages made of paper mache

tackily colored with crayons

and the tears of my children

who toil in your sweatshops.

If the path to home diverges

and Ive forgotten which fork to take

I'll forge ahead through the prickly

underbrush burned clean by

the fires of virility and vice

that masquerade as character traits

that made your career as

a clown interesting and depressingly empty.

Ive lost what wakes me at night

for I've never conquered my plight

and instead allowed the shadows' eyes

to stare through my battered soul

and watch my story unfold

the stumbling of a newborn foal.

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