See well the lives of past an prevalence –
I see, though my eyes are empty holes, each
puckering like the thirsty lips of a long dead desert wanderer,
willingly deprived of their burdens,
I worry not for the sun.

seeming sighted even in your blind faith,
will let me know when there is light enough to need at all those orbs I lack.

I feel well the sacrifice and do make sacred,
unfit for the idiot force of the used car salesman,
such a word to abuse so readily.

Take no stock in my words, my
broken king,
if that is your choice.
Know only that darkness that you may craft,
find the first-born blade, that keened
that makes you feel like part of something bigger than the germ of your mind's scope –


Carve me.

Carve all that you see.

Mark it and scar the face of the waiting world,
but know well that your limits in wide-eyed vision
are this maimed man's greatest allies.

Erich Campbell

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