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Ultimate PoemUltimate Poem
By: Ultimate Poet
B is for black which my soul is and white is not.
A is for the atramentous darkness beguiling my onyx/obsidian persona (non grata) per captia ipso facto.
L is for love which I have not, and longing which I have got. Yet to get and not have I dont.
C is for crevice. And crack. Also cakehole.
K is for Kurt Cobain or K-mart, where I buy my black shirts, eye-liner and Bic Razors to c(K)ut my self.
All of these spell out my fate and also my eye and b.m. color and also my hate.
A Bloody, Stupid Miracle The day we’d cured the human condition was the day I put a bullet through my head and didn’t die. It was also the day I realized how scared I actually was of death, and after hours of muscle ache from holding that gauze against my open skull, after the wound closed and everything went back to normal, I had myself a good old-fashioned brainstorm. How ironic.
But when summer came, everything had fallen to shit. The air scorched my skin and parched my tongue every time I took a breath. The sun glared down on a rapidly-collapsing world, full of the undying bastard children of cruelty and misfortune. What was one to do when their cells regenerated faster than they decomposed?
My feet hit the pavement, now littered with jagged bits of glass to snap at my toes, thoroughly baked by the blazing ball of bitter disdain high overhead. Today was worse than yesterday. Though I’d often wondered the purpose of it anymore, I
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