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Shakespeare's Monkeys

Infinite Monkeys. Infinite Typewriters.

More in Introspection and belly button lint

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Peripherally distorted trees fly by
Roadways littered with tension
 
Anxiety claws at my ribcage
Wanting to feed on my heart
 
And never-ending politics
Putrefy my psyche
 
A sluggish gaseous poison
Infects my good intentions
 
As closer, and closer
I creep to my destination
 
Do I remain in neutral or shift
Into blissful reverse
 
Or move forward and succumb
To the inevitable catatonia
 
 
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