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Mad Girl's Love Song
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Jennifer.

Here I am, a bundle of past recollections and future dreams, knotted up in a reasonably attractive bundle of flesh. I remember what this flesh had gone through; I dream of what it may go through. I record here the actions of optical nerves, of taste buds, of sensory perception. And, I think: I am but one more drop in the great sea of matter, defined, with the ability to realize my existence.

Today is one of the bad days; my head speaks to me in rhyme and I am trapped in a metaphor prison. Luckily for my poetry it comes fast and pressured, emotional and cathartic. Everything else is sacrificed. I wonder if anyone can tell when I am falling?