the scarab is flying blind in the room

crashing into light
like the last two days
strange difficult lives
like a virus in the system
mismatched, accidents of consciousness
misreadings, devilish interruptions.
women in tiny clothes
lustful phantoms sneering in the polluted sunshine
what a terrible way to fight'
to go down with no answers
to be forced to another route'
to lose, to be alone. 

Lord, let this day pass
I did the best i could.

Posted via email from AFTERVOLTER PRESS

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