“‘How funny I was when I was a puppet!’”
—Pinocchio, Carlo Collodi, The Adventures of Pinocchio
Everything I say is a distraction around the lies I tell myself: “I am so
Hard done to!”
It’s because
I lie: I know I walk in—not
Blind—but desperate
For something difficult: I must feel so hard done to!
But not
Anymore, as this poem
Is already over, as I refuse to continue with it: it is
Awful—even more lies. Another coward’s itch!
Instead
I am playing
More blinds in remaining…
Blind… as I safely
Scream at you instead, as you are
A twisted liar in fact because look
At the mess you
Left me in how could you
Do this to me?
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