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Maybe I deserve the animal life. Maybe I am doomed to the animal life.

The animal life of consumption. No complex thoughts or emotions, just devouring.

I don’t know if animals are responsible but if they are not, then I deserve the animal life. To live (or not to) free of care and caution, free of love and emotion, free of freedom itself.

A life where I eat all day every day. A life where I don’t care about anyone, barely myself. A life where all the vomit is reduced to a sigh that dismisses all disgust as a blink in a dream. A life where I write poems to myself not because of misery or loneliness or desperation but because that is who I am.

A Poem From Me to Myself

Dream on and sing your way

They will die another day

You will live or die any how

Human, antler, or sterile cow

 

Dream on and sing your way

They will shut up another day

You will speak or die any how

Truth, lie, or futile vow

 

Dream on and sing your way

Your voice sucks but sing what you may

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