from a tent

August 6, 2017

i left it up to you when the spring came and fingers were blame the time to get your shrew was all the same a number line of hurt
i’m lost staring up waiting for classes to change wondering if I could rearrange structures crafted by control freaks creating control and want to continually capture little children’s imagination in an effort to rearrange free thought with more number lines an intrusion on our growth shuffled into believing spray paint on a wall is revolution it starts somewhere and who am i sitting fancy free suckling off the teat I bite something in there about chewing hands in ecstasy while ripping the food from drudgery and writing reports to snag your sinking soul

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