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 Oct 2014 Fey Torres
Raj Arumugam
so I brought my writer wife
(prominently pregnant)
to the hospital
and on her bed, she screamed:
"weren't" "hasn't" "couldn't" "shan't"
"aint" "hadn't" "you're" "isn't"
"aren't" "didn't" "wasn't"
"who's?" "what's?" "he's" "she's"


The doctors were confounded
and they turned to me and they said:
"What the hell is she doing?"

And I replied with double speed
and a violent sense of urgency:
*"Don't you know?
She's having contractions -
she's a writer"
I keep lighting up this green,
So to induce the serene.
I keep using others,
What some might call lovers.
I do what I need,
when I don't want to plead.
'Cause doing these things,
Just to please myself,
Even stroke these strings,
Keep me away from the topmost shelf.
I live my life high,
Until my eyes run dry.
What's in my grasp, I still can't reach,
Cause even if I touch it, it'll just be bleached.
Like black in my veins,
Like death is my blood.
I'm unnaturally blind,
with my face in the mud.
And who am I to know what happens then?
Hell, I don't give a ****, I don't have any friends.
I am more interested in your demons at 2am,
Than I am of the person you pretend to be at 2pm.

— The End —