Stability

Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? I’m not okay. Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay.

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Blind

Forever, but never, my castration is clever, but I say whatever, we must sever my endeavor, to strangle whoever gave this answer.

But to keep alive, this prize, arrest my eyes, for those who cry over the spilt size of my thighs, and supply these guys with the skies to realize their disguise.

For not to kill this skill with chill, for my will shall scale this hill, and destroy the veil with this pill I take with thrill.

As I am cloud nein, with my fine canine, dining on wine and steak, devine! While my mind is sunshine, my body Frankenstein, dear Valentine you have a deadline, I must decline thine Einstein shrine, to design my maze vine and protect my mind from your confined resign.

To feed on bits, avoid your hits, but benefit on these tits, and told I need permits to show off my splits, and admit that my poems
Suc

Smooth Features

John had arrived home beaten by the world. His car broke down in the parking lot at work. His boss yelled at him in, what had been thought to be, the safety of his office. He had spilled coffee all down his shirt. And now, money was low. So low, there were barely any funds for food for the last week of the month. John had fell into his couch in defeat, not knowing what to do about sustenance. John lived in poverty all his life. But he never experienced a time when providing for himself became an issue.
He then thought of some change he might have in an old bank he made. John flung himself from the couch and went to his closet. Upon opening, a few old shoes, some with missing laces, some with holes ground through the bottom, and a few clothes he never wore, that were bought from a thrift store, fell from the cramped pile. John pushed some boxes on the top shelf to the side, spilling other items onto the floor. Eventually, he found his closed jar. It was something he had made years before in art class. It was indeed a coin holder. It was oblong in shape; flat on the bottom, and fairly egg shaped around, with a thin and poorly made slot. The coin slot was not centered at the top. It was as if the cooking process had allowed the once centered slot to droop over from the heat. Since there was no opening on the bottom to retrieve the coins easily, John had to decide if the coins inside were worth it. John shook the jar hoping for a hefty rattle.
Cracking into the piggy bank, hope did not thrive. A few coins, barely enough for a meal consisting of fast food; a onetime meal, fell from the shattered mess. The hopeful savings account was now smashed to bits of ceramic shrapnel.
John sat. Shifting through the coins, he humored himself by arranging the coins. After counting, it summed up pocket change. John looked around to ensure himself that he found every coin that fell from the exploded pig. One penny found its way across the room, almost hidden within the brown 70’s carpet.

Upon picking it up, John noticed that the surface touching his index finger was smooth. Turning the coin in hand, the face of the president that once was on the coin was now a silhouette of a figure. Only one side of the penny had been greatly smoothed out by a previous owner. The penny’s face was unknown. The words were gone. The details, vanished. John’s thumb found its way from one side to the other, again and again, feeling its soft surface. It entranced him.
John forgot about hunger. John forgot about the other change. He leaned back against the rim of his bed and contemplated the coin. His thumb moving from the left to the right, and back again. John sat, feeling the coin until day break the next morning. Even then, all he did was stare at the coin and feel its soft surface.

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