The old tricks don’t work anymore.
The antiquated armour has rusted to dust.
The Ancient walls came down
To let emptiness flow in like a river.
I guess this is what its like.
To subside on clichés and handouts.
Revisiting hunched old haunts
An addict’s ghost unable to let go.
Tweaked, torn & twisted, unrecognizable form
No longer trying to fly to mountain peaks,
Just trying to raise my head above the gutter.
–Jack Blare
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