Not quite crazy

Not quite crazy

I let myself be touched

by the freefalling void

 

the utter senselessness

of being alive

or dead

 

meaning

is just a convention,

syllables sounding

in a muscle

under a scalp

 

and somehow shared

occasionally

in almost-empty rooms.

 

Speaking of illusion

seems cruel

 

so we mask ourselves

in kind intention

 

and envy the freedom

of the naked.

 

Despite my yearning

for beauty in any form

 

what touches me

keeps peeling form away

roughly

gently

 

with each awkward

breath.

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