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  • Writer's pictureKyx

bite the apple to its core

rusty car engine hidden by a shiny exterior

wheezing as i try to catch up on the racetrack

windshields of other cars pristine and superior

mine clouded by six inches of mud and tack

in the middle of the circus is where i stand

the biggest clown with an invisible cloak

yelling with a microphone; waving my hands

and yet the audience doesn't hear my jokes

i'm terrified of talking to people

paralysed by the fear of their judging eyes

my social skills cripplingly feeble

but i wear a smiling, laughing disguise

my devil built the corridors of my mind

winding with no map to guide me out

a million drill sergeants guard its confines

flooding my interiors with incessant self-doubt

bite the apple to its core and you will see

a tiny child who just wants to be liked,

who refuses to admit she's lonely

or how deeply desperately she wants to die


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