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The Page

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The page, so clean
So white,
So sheer,
Sits before me
On my cherry desk.

Words come pouring,
Come tumbling,
Come smashing
Out of my shattered,
Inflamed heart.

The page: a “masterpiece”
A “work of art”
An “original”
Is what people see.
Me? Not so much.

Because hatred
And envy
And maliciousness
Swallow the distorted paper
With heavily layered vitriolic.




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