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i sometimes admire
the ones who are wired
and programmed to
not seem to give a damn
and aren’t taken higher
into the whirlwind of a storm
of torn anger and resentful
scorn dressed in a forlorn,
long, exasperated glare
but then i remember
that they really do care
but just happen to be
much better at bottling
up their despair and it
comes out as monsters
when staring in the mirror
as they brush their teeth,
or when they struggle
to fall asleep and when
they are no longer awake,
those emotions then take
them by the throat
in their night terrors and


give me wine.
after two glasses
i will have passed
the emptiness that
was mine
into the bottle –
i’ll even sing about
Clementine –
with my canines
i’ll bite into my mind,
and with a halfhearted
smile, instead of just okay
i’ll tell you i’m fine
written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: qualms