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Orders from the Doc.

Come and get
me you cold, filthy
insects. I will rebel
into the grave,
back out

fight, kick,
fucking bite
(gnashing), pull
away all that I can.

You will earn
nothing
from me, learn
nothing for I refuse
to reinforce
this kind
of behavior,
fucking

sociopath. Narcissist.
You are not on my prescription,
and anyway: so

unethical,
your tactics:
damn your persistent
lack of empathy,
it kills me to kill
you despite

your lack of life
in the meaningful
sense of the word.
After all,

who are you? Who
are you, really, apart
from the chaotic
crowds, severed
from the herd, unplugged
from groupthink?

Nothing.
No one.
So it seems.
According to you.

Fine. Fuck
you. Just wait.
Endure the pain.

Just shy of unendurable.

Only alone
do you find your Self.
Isolation nurtures,
narrows your energy down
onto becoming
who you really are.

So go ahead: alienate
me. Fear, hate
me. Perhaps
this is what I need.
What you need.

Could be just
what the doctor ordered.

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