I used to be a backslider
now I live with spiders
some sort of sickle cell anemia
scissoring up my thoughts
like rose petals strewn about after a Mexican parade
I beat my fists
with chains
until they are shiny white
the highs and lows are much, much closer now
dim, mirror-endless
I'm scared of the unreachable thoughts --
I'm downloading culture, shooting fistfuls of it into my eyeballs
dousing my exterior with vitamin glue
I'm a middle man, hands outstretched to convert goods into garbage
mind filling up like my guts with fat, greasy lies ... filling the space between hustlers and flies
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