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My screwy brain can't
break free of this rut
splicing and 
dicing the 
minced-up words
that play over
and over
in my head

I know that music happens
between the frets.
I know I should work – 
I should walk – 
I should eat – 
I should – 
should – 
should – 

– but all I can do is
rewind the spindle
in my head
yet again
and wait 
to end.

An outside part of me
knows the score
but that won't
dislodge me;
instead I just twist my own words,
wring them from my brain:
– hah, you can't 
'cuz you're weak
'cuz you won't
'cuz you're weak
'cuz –
'cuz –
'cuz –
you're just 
gonna be like this
forever, bitch.

(C) 2014 by Rosetti C.
Translunary Things
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