once in a while on my frequent walks i stop and wonder whether or not my limbs are falling off; if i have maggots and insects crawling out of my eyes and cysts in my feet; if im wearing the face of another human or animal or demon or alien; if the clothes that im wearing are truly the clothes that im wearing or if im seen as a cloaked demon with an odd hat from blocks away.
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I spit bullets in my feet
Every time I speak
So I write instead
And still people want me dead
~msc
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