I do not want to remain too intact.
Entropy hides a crueller truth: and in
the confidence of chaos lies no sin.
To dissipate in smoke, or love in fact
so madly that one cries out to protect
those secrets held within what has long been
left rotting in our neatness, and unseen
in even the most intimate tête-à-tête…
So take me in your hands, and break me now;
let all my blood be testament to loss
and betterment, that there is greater cause
in wanting to be born anew – like how
the potter hurls upon the dusty floor
the pot that suffers just one fatal flaw.


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