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Cynthia Ruth Lewis |
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CIRCULATION PROBLEM Since you left, it's the same thing every morning-- pins and needles without warning arms and legs asleep; nerves spent, extremities severed no blood to reach them, cold and dead. Heart beating numbly, pulse shaky and weak, can't push the blood ashore, anymore Can't feel the weight of sleep the heavy blanket, dreaming deep... and it always ends the same: gone, as quickly as you came Can't feel; I'm limp and useless as a rag doll; pose me any way you want, I'm not real Put me on the shelf, for safekeeping, and memories-- dust me off if you get lonely: you know you were the only one who could ever make my blood sing OUTCAST I've never rushed out to see a "hit" movie I don't "do" the mall I don't pay attention to or participate in gossip I listen to Beethoven as well as Marilyn Manson I don't rubberneck at accident scenes I've never read anything on a best-seller list I am not ruled by the dollar sign I am childless by choice I don't honor holidays by drinking and getting behind the wheel I prefer the company of books to that of most people... and for this I am considered a threat to society but since when is individualism considered dangerous? Just because I prefer to avoid the masses, and choose to put a fork in the beaten path, for this I am shunned I am feared I am dismissed but I enjoy being on the other side because if being different is deemed wrong in this fleeting world I don't ever wanna be right [Index] |
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Thunder Sandwich #26 - Summer/Fall 2005 |
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