I am not a saint
I used to live as a drunk
From sip to sip
Allowed myself to be absorbed
In the daily poisons
I sank in descending spirals
I once touched the ground
Where there is no more
As I lost all of it
Pride, desire, aversion…
Even delusion itself
Nothing was left
It was all absorbed
In the rakta
Held by the skullcup
All of it was offered
To the great enjoyer
Indulging himself deeply
He consumed samsara
At its roots
His eyes were clear
Brighter than the Autumn Skies
And he presented to me the fruition
Of empty awareness

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