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Sugar Plums And Tigers Tailsbeneath this costumed facade
the pale writhing chains of agony
and withering shadow of substance
bear witness to what never was
at the end of all of this
this make pretend circus of manicured clowns on parade
i look at my want and lack of
and know that i will always fall short
i carry the currency of a place
reserved for sugarplum fairytales and
unattainable crystal snowflake fantasies.
A dearth of lollipop land nostalgia will be my end.
cursed with an emptiness of that which is so prized
and blessed with a fullness of that which never is
I stand here, and hope that she had understood,
that her critical eye was the start of my shriveling mass.
piece by crumbled piece, the fractured remnants of
my sugar glass self esteem are glued together again.
and as she slowly mends the torn fragments, and drains
the caustic bile of self loathing, her tender touch
pollinate a barren womb, and concieve in a once dead place
that perhaps, just perhaps, my end is not yet.
And perhaps the new rending of
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