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one o’clock in the morning,
the streets are silent,
the lights outside,
flicker incandescently
alternating between sanity and
reality,
as i sit here, on the floor in my
room, not so differently.
i am tormented,
by the thoughts and stark
realizations of my failures
and inconsistencies
and faults and insecurities

and the way my body reacts
to these drugs
trembling on the fault lines
of this terrible city that i
live in,
and how it wants to grab me
by the throat
my fucking throat
and strangle the life
straight out of me
like all of the other poor bastards
sleeping in the crevices
and mall parking lots, auctioning off
whatever pieces of their
bodies they can do without
for a night
just to get high.

i think of the opportunities i’ve had to escape
and how i jettisoned my
exit strategy straight out the exhaust pipe
on to simcoe street
south simcoe,
the one with the hookers.

– r.f.g

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