CRUNCH and Jamal's Dead
and I'm in fucking pieces on the floor
contorted in the cracks of a Soul
so cold
so dark
so long
thirsty
for the sound
specs on the carpet
to be sucked up
after hours
by the cleaners
into the devouring groan
that renders all response
meaningless
Just crumbs in the soul
just crumbs in the sole
Just pieces
dancing a withering waltz
in a crying cyclone
Alone
And Jamal he lays dead in the earth
below the street
a block of cold concrete
his sombre headboard
in the arms of the Mothering shadows
set to smother the world from his eyes
and he lets it all go
with a stifled sigh
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