One poet's worth a thousand scientists — Curated by Lucas Regazzi
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Sometimes I feel as though I’m going insane
Like I’m a child again, revved with fury in my head
About never getting what I want and having every explanation
for why I should be
Or why everyone else should be

Now, tell me if I’m being foolish, but am I the only one
In search of spiritual communion?
Something holy, but not anything that could be found
At the alter, more like
In the parking lot outside, where the blood is not consumed but rushed up
With hiked skirts and true sin, passion and bite marks on every last goose bump that
Trails your neck like an uncharted map, with each protrusion signifying an adventure to be had
And your hair draping your face like a confessional

Let us make like the host and share ourselves
Feast on each other
Because I know I lacked a father, and your face tells of lost valour
So, who cares? We all have chunks missing, lets fit together like the fucked up puzzle that we are
Because I’m tired of this soul playing bumper cars
With every passing possibility of someone who could be something
And I want nothing less than a naked soul, nothing poisoned by a guard

Communion, Lucas Regazzi