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I hate 100 Different things.
The truth is I’m inert My memoriesMake me worse Head so rawI worry Tip scratching My memories. Percolate My innards Shrouded tombGhastly fumes I’ll burstSpeckled puss Thanks for askingThe truth is Messes madeBlessings cast. Like burnt hair Or garbage And stain the Neighbor’s most I’m afraid One day I’ll Realize To me: truth isMere vagary So obtuseSophistry. FavoriteYellow rug. Shrivel