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Walkabout Runaway.

Fuck them.
Heard it all before:
every word, inflection,
expression, gesticulation:

such a fucking show.

So bring it on. Want so bad
to make me this? Been
there before. Failed

the mission
but died fighting
for what I felt was right
despite wrong’s overpopulation,
dominance, 

this: this I know. My heart
is in the right place
as far as my internal compass
can discern, my mind

is as focused as it fucking
can be, my body,

I know: it leaves
so much to be desired,
but then again:

fuck you. Love
or abandon,
bleed or feed,

understand
me or overstep
your own bounds,

my walkabout 
runaway. 

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