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And Winning cleverly disguised itself as Losing
coming out
only at Night
hiding behind a
Magical Moon Moustache


Better to be a chicken and have the sense
to peck, scratch and kill
the sick among us
to save the rest.
At least the strength to drive them from our beds
Endless conversations, self-help, pills and second chances
That turn to
Third, fourth, fifth.

What do they reply when the sick pleads
“Just one more chance, please!!?"
“Cluck, cluck, cluck, this is going to hurt you more than it will hurt me.”


such is Pain

that shamelessly invades
unlocked ears

burns through

bitterly dances
across the tongue

squirms and writhes
in the gut

ravages the eyes