Contents: Cancer

He was a mind reader

When there weren’t one.

He baked shit

With no sun.

Shot shit.

With no gun.

He was some one.

In his own game.

It was not the same.

He was really playing.

From out there.

Past attention there’s no mention.

Of the penchant for games.

They’re one and the same

This here is: The Game.

 

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