I stand beneath streetlights
agog with fireflies who do not
know fear in their passion for light.
Molten light snaking into my lungs
while I hear exasperated nuclei
in the throes of a nicotine death,
I feel the touch of a scream on my neck -
this must be the kiss of death.
And yet, tomorrow I shall awaken
to the taste of plasticine faith,
the ultimate proof of surrender.
Surrender, to the sixth sense
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