Forever: there is a smelly secretion coming out my eyes and mouth.
What is its point? Perhaps nothing. Nothing more than my need
To drive the world and myself nuts. Maybe I'm mad at the world
For misleading me. Maybe I'm mad at myself for hating success's glare.
Maybe I enjoy the failure. It allows my golden diction, to exist
Outside of the confines of a dictionary. Who are they to design
The pleat for my passions? The "permissions" of my power.
To persuade me copy what has presided me. I'm not a pioneer.
For now and until forever I am a leaf, dancing on the breeze,
Dining on the sun, ducking exhaust pipes,
Daring the world to do the same.
And I'm deeming that acceptable, even if you don't.

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