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Opera Limina: 'Works of the Threshold'
There's a boy on a bed
and he wants to see the stars,
but his window's fogged,
and he wants to see the stars.
In the morning, the way that the light
falls through the window
is etched on his soul
and written in his veins,
like the smell of his mother,
or the taste of overcooked beef.
The monster under his bed
sometimes talks to him
and tells him stories,
and he dreams that he'll fall in love
and it'll all be OK.
Beyond his walls are spiders
and black holes.
Beyond his dreams is a home
that feels like it isn't.
God lives in his cupboard.
He isn't allowed any toys.
The boy is still there,
bound to his bed,
the monster doesn't talk anymore.
Inside his walls are spiders and black holes,
and nowhere
is home,
he is wrapped in agony,
the light etched in his soul,
a king with a broken crown.
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