I stopped in insolence
At the sign, the stubborn
Sight of which i felt more
Than heard, i was betrayed
By its lack of ambivalence
The way it marked me
Without blemish or retribution
But careened against weakness
And softness within, it was a horror
The knowledge that i was seen
Even if it was approximate like this
I was more than distressed and dead
It was what people call apocalypse
Without the religious mumbo jumbo
A way of seeing that was not
A way of being that was not
A way of ending that was
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