They would never understand,
she tells herself.
She could have been a revolutionary.
She could have been
Homecoming Queen.
Punk girl, she poses in a
bikini for a fanzine.
She shows off her latest
tattoo.
In front of the camera, the
pain diminishes, but the whirring blades
in her head spin unceasingly.
There is no pill that will
fix her.
The stars hang crooked in
this universe.
They twinkle, they glitter.
Facts are toxic for true believers.
The propaganda machine is
always on.
It has wings. It is made up of nightmares and dreams.
Conspiracy theories abound.
Conspiracy theories abound.
The lie detector in the
other room measures feelings but not truth.
Socrates suffers from
dementia while Plato takes notes.
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