the whorehouse of anxiety by Dustin Pickering

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when you dream

leave the bottomless

a cup of ancient wine

spilt over the highway

a libation to the lunacy

offering the gods their song

in the whorehouse of anxiety

we are all meaty victims

time plays with anticipation

like a game theorist’s dice

we are wicked like worms

stretching our salvation lengthwise

all is dead to the night

where i cry myself to sleep

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