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The Diary Of A Social Cubist – Martin Trippett

Hand of all life

My acquaintance joins me as I drink, when all I want to do is think and be alone
Then every alley comes awake and offers me a quick escape, come take me home.
And living with eternal grief, pure pleasure is my one release.
Strange apartment, dirty doorway, looking for a momentary peace.

As I walk alone in pinewood trees the stars are shining just for me, I need to rest.
And all the packs of nobodies have bleeding scabs upon their knees and burning chests.
And though my sleep was deep and dreamless, all night I heard an aching voice.
Go be like all the vermin that surrounds you, monotony no choice.

As he plunges in the knife so deep his bleeding arm begins to weep, destroying love.
I can stem the flow with a torn off shirt but only death can cure the hurt of pure sweet love.
And did the fat man die in vain?

Or can we laugh at nature’s best?
I offer no solution I’m just searching for a momentary rest.

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