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The Arctic Monkeys rattle my brain
nearly into a trance
while the lyrics cut
into my subconscious,
leaving me just a hint of sober

while she's sleeping, I slave
bleed my brain into this blank screen,
into this ******* machine,
so my feelings can be made public,
yet for the most part, unseen

it's odd, you know, I feel
further isolated, yet somehow,
part of something bigger, something,
I don't know, eternal,
when I feed this dysfunctional family
I'm a starving technician, because my profession doesn't pay, rather it robs me of my sleep, my peace, and some of my sanity

— The End —