My shoes splash through mud left from a brief night time rain, sunlight
glistening in each puddle as morning comes, and I rush off to places I'd rather
not be, the endless ritual of routine that lacks meaning merely aids in
survival, not of the fittest, just those who learn to comply, while inside as
always, another shadow lurks, one that aches to break free too, violate
something or someone, to find joy in being bad, the excess of who I am spilling
out of me from every pore, the need to fill up all those holes and still have
something left to do so again, the splash of my feet over muddy landscape, my
shape perverted in the reflections of puddles disturbed by my passing,
reflection of my real and distorted me, I keep locked up
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