no more weed and no more longing
for a reverie far from coming
no to pleasure, its eventual pain
no to my own self-disdain
no to distractions, false connections
no to naivety, sight so plain
no more fuck ups, no more hook ups
no more Facebook look ups
no more needless suffering
for the sake of my worth buffering
no more noise, no more vices
no more lustful entices
no more escape, no more excuses
no more nonserving uses
no more fucks given, no more world hidden
no more bedridden pity rising
no more returning to what I’m yearning for –
hurt synthesising
no more rush, only hush
no more urge to look away
no more thirst to run astray
no more control, only surrender
to not a privileged splendour
no more resistance, no more assistance
the frostbite shall steer me – numb, lonesome
but consistent. I’ll tell myself in sombre light
no more quixotic foresight
no more ache, no more take
just here
grateful but years too late.

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