I see your troubles, invisible to me
I breathe your air, suffocating me
I dream your imaginations, portending of me
In the dream
We draw near the gate of God with breakfast cakes
I also ascend silently halfway up the mount with chunks from my wounded gut
We silently discuss the merits of muted screaming
In the dream
You hate because the demons eat your pain like starving gluttons
You mock because the demons applause and cheer like it’s monday night football
You bite through flesh because the demons love seeing wives get slugged in the face
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