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Industrial Arts

artist, author and designer for the stage…

Silently pensive

Chain smoking cigarettes

My fingers are stained a sick greenish grey

My skin is dusty and ashy

Called a ghost of myself

Fleeting in and out

Between the relics of all my past lives

That lay shattered and wasted

In a long wide trail behind me

To the side of me

And now spread out before me

I sit on a slab

Put my head in my hands

Hide in the shadows

From the machines overhead

Avoiding all the prickly needles

Watching as my nerves shake 


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