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Papi Sees

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Your sheep costume has a hole,
And I want to drink
the Oxycotton
That seeps out.
I can trade you my band-aid
For Ritalin.
I would like to write with that instead.

I want you to sing that lullaby.
The one with dancing polka dots
And Zoloft.
I can’t let that one escape.
Because I almost saw Charon
That time.

I can promise I’m not Vicodin,
But I was Moses’ Burning Bush.
Tonight, God’s voice is dipped
In Opium,
And I’ll be out of Hell
In six months.





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