Untitled (anything but death)

a poem by Chris Eyes

there is something in there
the immediacy of the despair
the forgetfulness of temptation
the barricade of hope
the reluctance of love
the seduction of pain
the sorrow of the crestfallen gods
that reminds me that i am the long dead nothingness
being crushed by the weight of eternity
i am alone and vulnerable to self destruction
distract me from the horrors of my own mind
my guilt my debt my emptiness
and let me celebrate my lust for anything but death
there is something in the art
that makes all the pain disappear

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