Through the Door

don’t die young and empty
fists and fists
and they insist
don’t lie down
with the image of risks
taken on a promise
that the feeling will be coming
and becoming lightning
in the stillness of noon
don’t go just yet
fisted fists angrily clenched
they will insist
on filling up to the brim
open your hand and take
take and take
the inheritance of greed
straddled around your neck
and the ache
it aches to keep wanting
long after the disappearance of taste

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