Another piece of paper

added to the score. Continuing

to keep score, of what is nothing more.

His life is a bore– solely a boar squealing to

a whore, wishing something more than her

pretending to adore. Lies on paper of a faked

interest. Seamless mistresses coming and

going. Lying dormant, Pharaoh solely sleeps

and weeps. Pyramids scheming in this cycle

demeaning. Steaming in his cave, caving in

the sarcophagus. No source of

metamorphosis.  Crying and

wishing to be flying. Real-eyes

he’s slowly dying.


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