This is like an online notebook, this stuff is not finished or often even started properly.

Pissing In The Wind. Election Season.

In the bin behind the supermarket I found my best friends cheek
The freedom and sanity of a talented actor
The moral backbone of an artist
The spacious arteries of our youth
All crushed and mashed
Under the weight of the pound.

Foreshadowing all of this was of course our hope
That they toyed with like a clit
Rising us to a crescendo over hurdles wet with ink
After they came
We were paraded in the media aisle
Defined by our outlines
Corners missed off descriptions
They stuffed us with numbers and factual symbols %
And flung us about like puppets until we all tore at the seams
Our stuffing made their beds soft and comfy
We slept on the see saw tossing and turning
As we dip in and out of shadows.

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