The Acceptable Madness

Looking at the serrated edges of steel; my freedom

a few inches away from the throbbing vein, I

frame the utopia that rests

on the fabled other side.

Like a rusty machine that chugs,

does its work, albeit with loud grumble,

monochrome

monotonous

mo-no,

I’ve been slowly diluting the poison in the air

inside my blood. Letting the afraid,

the intellectual,

the dumb, the lewd, the diplomatic,

the ones with white masks and no

face at all,

hug me and tell me I’m their sibling.

Because I’m Bukowski’s third monkey;

losing all of my mind

and melting away my soul,

to become

accepted.

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