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Jan 2016
his head grows hot
no heat can hit it
but as he lets thoughts brew and bubble
asking himself the "ifs" and the "buts"
until he is about ready to pop
there is little to do to stop
what is about to happen
he runs from his cave with acid spewing from his mouth
he lets it hit his skin and he screams
he is contorted and wallowing
he is no more than a puddle
JM
Written by
JM  New York
(New York)   
469
   Dana Colgan
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