Over and over I revisit this place,

Hungry for an incited feeling.

The sharp and degenerate idea

Of me, the jester, the invisible man

Being, in the five senses granted me,

Organic. Cursed just like all that breathe

To think, and wonder, and smother

Other ideas pointing to something

Deeper and darker and more grievous still.

Familiar; a sort of solitude akin to those

That submerge themselves in baths of ice

I reckon. But I can’t account for the merit.

The answer to it all remains elusive

Quite like I imagined dragons back then

Hiding, precious in mountains

Among jewels and sentiments, secrets

And answers.

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