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PanicOffice

The Clinic...a poem

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And feeling fataly deformed

I'm stepping out into the storm

I burned your letters to stay warm

But somehow scorched my skin instead

 

Tinting my toungue aquamarine

I've tried to lick all my wounds clean

Now all I say sounds so obscene

Slighted, short sighted, and short lived.

 

So let me crawl inside your clinic

for adulterers and cyinics.

Disarm my arsenal of gimmicks

And rev my nerves up in reverse.

 

I never meant you any harm

So please don't sound the alarm

Just let me fall into your arms

A man can dream, can only dream.

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