tracks
you wear that
tiny piece of cotton
like a fucking badge
a gauzy sheild to
protect you from
night terrors
and trembles and
that sluggish
tar-monster, the
one that rips
and tears and
numbs and not
even your little
metal solidiers
that march in
thin lines and
pierce with thin
arrows can save
you when
the tar-monster
is gone and
all that’s left
are shallow graves
of worth and strength
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