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Tin Can

 Tin cans and primordial air,

As I played with my favorite Kentucky shirt.

Right ear and left ear, 

Crescendo, upbeat gags.

I kill myself with seventh-grade memories,

Filtered by haunting caress of my so-called friends,

From the deep-rooted scars in my system.

Gradual tempo

From A to Z

Skip these freaking letters, 

For they shout my tears.

Still playing?

I speak me

As they devour my brain

Tracing my back with scorching knives

I loathe all of you genius, 

Silent I. 

Friend is my demons,

Traumatic fallen angel.


Then born my bohemian,

I stand with my pronoun you bludgeoned to disgrace.


Can I.

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