Came home and vented big clouds I balloon animal twisted into the following poem.
Tentative Mouse
I'm hungry, not by choice
this time. No chic purge
diet- just pure capitalism
punishing me, every instant
demanding I behave
the exact opposite to my
inclenanations- resulting
destructive impulses
when released back into
the city. What if I etched
the name of every street
across my body in blotchy
lines? Tourists might come
just to see me then. Remember
kid, one day you'll not have
the freedom of no one listening.
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