holding on in a cardboard edge

There is something about the popular
deadly in its violence of conformity; of implicit “yes” and a nod of “no”
I can hear reason bubbling in a soup; atomised to perfection, simmered down
still a reason, reasonable enough to hold a candle. Burn it at both ends but have a clamp,
to teeth it in and see the spectacle. I have a reason to believe I am disliked. I know I am not an exception. What is exceptional about me is that I am honest; even when I am socially awkward I am not fake

Speak yer mind

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