Sacrosanct Fabrication

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
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Submitted: October 24, 2011

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Submitted: October 24, 2011

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At the peak of midnight's hour

I kneel quietly by my nightstand

With catastrophe caressing every inch

Of the delicate fabric comprising my skin

The mere thought of inviting

A fictitious laughing stock

To cast a sea of conviction upon me

Awakens the passionate hatred

That nests within my bones

As a detouring agnostic,

My views and opinions

Are often branded as hell-worthy

Often characterized as the grim reaper

Of a blatantly corrupt society

However the icy, cold truth

That creeps across my flesh

May cause others to shriek with fear

Come what may I say

For the truth shall rise

In the absence of logic


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