It is but the epiphany of my disgrace

It is but the ephiphany of my disgrace,

that lurks in conspicous alarm,

of the things I have done to be,

a human being above all creatures.

It is but the ephiphany of my disgrace,

that questions the sorrow i drown myself in,

if it’s worth the tears of the amputated,

or the tyranny of my contrition.

It is but the ephiphany of my disgrace,

the claims I made, virulent and dreamy,

that sailed beyond the horizons, and,

broke the backs of a thousand men.

It is but the ephiphany of my disgrace,

a question remains, not of a higher purpose,

but if we are meant to destroy ourselves, in search

for meaning and seasons of morbid delight.

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