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My mind twists and toils like milk that’s spoiled...
And left on the counter for days.
My heart beats harder as my temper boils...
Frenzied by the choices I’ve made.
Every succulent word transcribed...
Comes from the chamber of inner intellect.
Written in letters made from my own life fluid...
For scholars to later dissect.
Each touch of the razor across my flesh...
Sends shivers down my spine.
Vermillion spots become art as they drop...
Composing each confessional line.
He’s mad they say, while taking my razor away...
Placing me back in a padded cell.
Ingenious I scream, too write my dreams...
Immortalized by the stories I tell.