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Literature
Painkiller and Co.
So you want to be a painkiller?
We’ll need the physician’s signature – yes, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here aaand here.
What? It’s a prescription; did you think it’d be easy? You must have never been one before! Well, don’t you worry: I’ve had six so far, so I know how the pieces of this circus fall. Just follow me!
Now, I’ll take you for the weekdays, but on the weekends I’m Liquor’s. He’s a jealous son of a bitc—well, actually, we’re kind of just a steady thing right now. You don’t mind sharing, right? Great! Because he’ll be here to
Literature
on free speech
try to write a poem about politics and it comes out treason. say
change is not the can or the street but maybe kick, or lack thereof.
the President says there is no need for panic.
the hero fires his rifle into the crowd hoping for applause
the hero was a quiet boy, always such a good kid
see: smiling child frozen on refrigerator door
see: weeping mother makes plea for salvation
this American daydream
say 24-hour news exclusive, say family, or values,
say where did all these bodies come from?
the President says his prayers go out
say a mute god is better than none at all
say i must be lying or else not telling the whole story
say this
Literature
This is Irony
I count the passing of days in ashtray soldiers,
and stillness in the words of dead poets.
We write our secrets on the inside of our lungs
and hide truths on the inside of our stanzas,
because it’s acceptable to wear hatred on your arms,
but vulnerability is a mark of weakness.
I have choked down everything: pain and shame and arsenic tranquility,
to spew forth such paltry words and call it poetry.
A waltz away from thirty eight caliber oblivion
we press back, back
because death isn’t as romantic as we hoped,
and poison is quieter than a gunshot.
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