What to make then of this breach made manifest?
A breach ever-distending
Across a fabric caught disrobing;
This fabric: scripted with precision, meant for decorum
Now nursing a hunger homewards-bound
With defector knives and forks ploughing through my disciplined Self;
Myself, disheveled.
This Self, cracked from end to end,
Brooding at stubborn blind lanes for Your self’s coherence.
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