You are the orange dust between my fingernails. 
The yellowed teeth of my decay, 
the fall of a legacy and lasting dynasty. 

The red mist in my stare; on my breath.
The swirling, toxic paranoia spinning webs and shouting names,
and the cutting, bleeding mechanism that I could never shake.
And will never break, though many times it will break me.


Yes, you my friend:
the fake handshake...

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