Then I spray my eye’s juices at the mirror, my reflection responds.
I spit back words, words are a cyclone.
My words resume to spin.
They then flip and land on their bellies, “so what? Nobody wins.”
A parabola of snakes. The slimy serpents rake crunchy leaves.
Why’d you do it?
You’ve cursed your back and behind my own back.
Never. Instead I abuse a boxed mind, opposed by the creeping books.
Let up the window and fly, my butterfly.
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Peace and Love.