…Small talk (II) Strip T’s…

Through bloodshot eyes it all looks bleak.
Turn the head, try not to speak.

Think of poor Prometheus.
Thankless for what he left to us.

Thrust apart, measure and suspend.
To mild displeasure, brace and bend.

Thoughts of suicide run thin.
They’re apprised to let the light come in.

Twisted metal, aching groan.
Truth and consequences shown.

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