Best Poem of W.B. Mad

Suffacation: What Defines Me
You say you love me.
Yet you feed me filth.
Do you see my sick skinny bones and sickly flesh?
Do I look healthy to you.
My sickness I keep and hide away just for me.
Ask me for some and I'll tell you 'NO! '
This IS my sickness, a dedication of my love and effort into the American system.
Gears turned . . .
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Pages of old stories stuffed everywhere.
My life is consumed with pages.
Pages here and pages there.
Pages stuffed in drawers and boxes.
Pages stuffed in pages stuffed in pants and down old condom boxes.
Pages stuffed up like I'm hiding drugs from the cops.
Pages stuffed in walls.
Pages stuffed . . .
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