drowned pulp…

further away 
push it already beyond belief 
crashed &  not romantically 
where am I; adrift
what  am I dressed in; waste
is this it
is it in me
and now a ceiling met
I gather these
untidy pieces 
wondering why
this disfigurement
disheveled and tainted
he near perfection 
and I only waves of pulp
of all these
drowned pages

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