the prints of our selfless souls
dont match up, not quite.
the scratches on their surfaces
make the souls skip when
the worn down stylus passes over
with out a second glance.
i saw that life was kidding
and i joined in on the joke
as i swam down to the trap.
but its gone, nothing but fish skeletons
to greet me.
that's a dirty trick.
no longer clinging to the abyss that was
my lifeblood
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