at the cusp of the event horizon
let it not be said that i lacked luster
sufficient to glow a bulb. i'll muster
what's left of my vibe before i wizen
like a worn down electric jellyfish
whose neurons, drained by black matter vampires,
longs to leap into the void where empires
have gone before me. f*ck it. it's all kitsch,
i'll say. bamboozle soup and side of fries.
say, i was no einstein or raquel welch,
never solved the mind-body problem belch
and, face it, had really bad taste in ties.
who knows what's on the other side of dark
and what waits for this tiny little spark?
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