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Not that they would let me.

By Willem IndigoPublished 6 months ago 1 min read
Photo by Paolo Nicolello on Unsplash

Absurd as it may be

Balaclava has no eye holes,

Conscious level forever unknown; reports to the

Dopamine are....off. Too far

East of stable (act natural) Certain accounts read as

Fable, only DSM-five labels here.

Gas giant with a grifter's pull, but they

Hired a hack to

Infiltrate humankind.

Jinx at every milestone, thief of a

Knight at the kickflip kingdom until misled by a

Lizard Brain


(nothing to see here)

Over-dubbed by--not a gunman whose demands

Pique a

Questionable array of neurons.

Risky riff-raff rabble-rouser rattled by this Rosey ruse.

Sycophant tamer, apparently, forceful for a

Toontown resident, known best outside the slaughterhouse,

United in this

Vivacious cause,

"Write, Writer, fuck the applause." With an itchy trigger finger

Xerosis wit to matchstick my disregard,

Yo-ho-ho vibe or mating call while I alter a

Zero-sum zest for another haunting hammer pull.

surreal poetryMental Health

About the Creator

Willem Indigo

I spend substantial efforts diving into the unexplainable, the strange, and the bewilderingly blasphamous from a wry me, but it's a cold chaotic universe behind these eyes and at times, far beyond. I am Willem Indigo: where you wanna go?

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