October 12, 2011
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You've rearranged my room again.
And just like the way you would redecorate the kitchen counter, you sift through my life and throw away what you will.
I'm the lamp, the inanimate object, watching soundlessly from the outside...
But inside, I am nothing like a lamp.
Lamps are elegant and poised and shine brightly in the darkness.
I shine brightly too, but the atmosphere you emit is smothering.
So please, keep at it.
That pile had no meaning just like I have no say.
I am the lamp and you are the puppeteer in a set-up with strings you can't conduct.

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