hate the way i'm forced to live by the tick, tick, tocking of a clock with no second hand. and the way chipped paint is the only kind of mural my eyes get to settle on, unless i want to watch the muscles of a mouth that's always speaking words i don't agree with.
hate the way they ask for your opinion but really want you to spit out the analysis they gave a week ahead. and the way they'll say i'm brilliant with out really listening to me; yet still i sit with my tongue tucked between my pearly whites.
today, dr. seuss wrote great expectations. and i'm waiting on the tick, tick, tocking because the jabberwocky's going to bring me lunch.
the only way to really be seen nowadays is to set aflame the pedestal you're rested on.
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