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BALANCE UPON RAZOR'S CRED
I am fearful
Of familiar
Sliding.
A special, smooth, slide
Quick to turn
And come the slick, slip.
Powerless I am
To tractor beam hooks
Like three chord pop
Pleasing a dumb, numb.
Satiety rolls over.
This is my comfort er...
I have to embrace
And embark
To leave it behind.
Am I lying?
To central core?
I know enough,
But I never stop there.
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