This is not just an art piece

               hanging

color

                                    strokes

on naked walls.

This is not just poetry

with words flowing free

This is just not a story perfect

that’s clean cut,

and cleaned up

for you,

dear reader,

This is an opening

to pearly dark gates,

where tall grass has grown

dark weeds forming a new home

in my innocent black mind

puzzling pieces of youthful dark times

forcing me to sleep soundly

in this insect infested bed

ridden with light

being consumed

by weed sections to be cut soon,

dear reader,

will you help me

cut my dark weeds too?

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