The blade has given way
To this quaint and duller pain
Coursing through my veins;
High octane gasoline.

And I’ll define myself.
All the trinkets now thrown out.
I thought, though now I doubt,
They were about something serene.

The fumes are in my eyes,
And my head is full of lies.
I should have been more wise,
For it dies in Smithereens.

Explosions growing violent.
Time demands that I abide it.
You should not stand beside it;
I tried it and careened.

When I glimpse that car,
And I wonder how you are,
I wish a wishing star
Would take me far to be unseen.

For far away I would atone
And cast a fate my own in stone.
I’d be quiet, as alone;
As blown to Smithereens.

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