what is, after all, one hundred years of despair?

honey, please get me out of this trouble.
honey, take this bottle from my hands:
it is poison – i’m delirious, seeing doubles,
clones, ghosts of what the world used to be.

i’ve been around so many fallen angels
(more or less like jack kerouac wannabes!)
i’ve shared hope with so many blessed vagabonds
that i’ve become one – the world did this to me.

so please, honey, leave my paradise to me.
i need to do it, but i can’t be set free
(even if my heart is willing to go all the way)

because this is my salvation in a bottle
and no one else here bothers if their sons and daughters
are left alone, enslaved in shells no one can see.

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