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Stunted in the Circus.

“Not my fault.
Stray monkeys.
Not my circus.
Out of my hands.

Butterfingers
anyway. What did
you say: they’re red?

Five fat fucking rivers
flowing to the rich pool growing
at the center of my palm.

Just doing my job, man.
Only human.”

Heart-bleeding liar.

Deceive yourself.
Increase your distance
from all
of them, all the rest.

Relinquish
personal freedom,
deny responsibility
for your part
in this.

Why don’t you grow
before you die again?

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