1 Inch

What do we do,
When we no longer wants I and I no longer want you?,
What do we do when evident reality decides to describe you,
As a thorn that was never plucked from variety’s back,
The in group evolves, in fact–
It revolves on a fixed track–
Of fads and getting that next hit of social crack.

If I’m not mistaken, I think I smell flesh,
But our guess is as good my guess,
I sleep when excluded, in my nest,
Of horrid smells and dust mite guests,
I sleep until the night comes to wake,
Me to hate–
My reality.

I have found in years that I am unique,
I do not need company to keep,
I am no thorn, no freak,
My mind goes far and deep,
And no matter how steep–
The devil builds my hills,
I will accept the challenge and embrace the thrill,
One inch at a time šŸ™‚

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