Kiss kiss and make-believe. Former slaves no longer free. That’s not me. I am not free to be. One or three. Coarse touches in loving hate. Touching my body but not my face. Clean the plate and do not be late to the falling of the city gates. Wrap yourself in flags and olive leaf. I still do not believe. Conceive the intricacies in which to populate the morning news hypocrisies. More or less punctuating the state of our loose skin and crumbling facade disease. Unease creeps up into the playground of the democracies. Where we go and what we know is no longer made up of niceties. Or the 90’s. Just drown me or shoot. Take what I owe, I know I want to leave but there’s nowhere else to go. So kiss kiss and make-believe. I will come home soon and scrub it clean. This festering wound in my mind is driving me insane. Inane, the membrane of what we once were. So easy to point and click and wave goodbye. So I will kiss kiss and make believe. Don’t stand and point at me. I am not free but I am me. You will see. I will be. Forever, never again. I struggle to find commonality. What is that you want to decree? I await the judgement of my ancestry. Less is more, more or less, and never has less been more the methodology of your stereotypical scientology. I will grow with the lesson. I will show you all how to make Belief. Hope for our humanity. To be free.
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