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Distortions

Strange – even in terror, paranoia
whose darting eyes don’t find
solid ground, whose eyes don’t know
what’s real, unreal,
even in terror confronting centerless space,
annihilation’s look,
terror clutching at memories of loved ones,
loved ones who feel like dreams –
even in terror,
in paranoia

I am

On the other side of these,
just a snap of the fingers away
is the Unborn     Undying

Strange – hell itself
is Me
seen through thickest distortion,
My naked intensity
warped through thickest distortion.

The heaven of heavens
is a sliver

of clarity away

Strange – there’s another distortion
that comes with too much
of the linear,
that prides itself
on being well grounded
and sober
the material world
the real world.

Strange, as it happens,
that hell
is a distortion
closer to My heart
than the sober kind

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