Poke me
Prod me
It’s all for my own good
Constantly waiting longer than I should
Image me
Biopsy me
Needles, torture my veins!
Create expeditiously, copious financial pains
Oh God! Why?
What offense have I committed?
From all directions uncertainty emitted
Now I’m spinning
Thoughts unrelenting
Pain in my heart
A desire for peace
For these matters to please, I beg — cease —
And f***ing desist.

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