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It’s not coming to me
This “inspiration” thing
No knock on my head
The suspended light bulb
Has no power source

It’s not working
This “find yourself” thing
We’re am I supposed to look?
And which hypocrite will tell me what to do?

It’s not even tepid
This “blood in my veins”
It’s clotting in chunks
For moving so slow
For loosing this race

It’s not as it seems
This “clarity” thing
I held the wrong paper to the
Wrong light bulb

Hoping to scrutinize
And criticize
And saw myself instead





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