How could he
For even a second
In the incongruent corners of his mind
Where rusted and derived, the devil roars
Think-speak-act as though I were
A delicate wallflower
Under the wings of a sweeping storm
Whilst I, half-broken and delusory though I am
Had spoken to the soft pain
That wounded my soul
And taught myself how to laugh at it
And flirt with it, and toy with it
And sit still underneath its lingering gaze
But never stopped my often childlike
Sometimes engrossing attempts
To empower myself?


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