Paper-Thin Crutch
The injection numbs me--
It makes me sane.
I hold it closely,
Like a cane.
The clock is my crutch--
It holds me down.
In a field of dreams,
Nothing's found.
I struggle once more;
Time casts a glare.
If I try and then fail,
I simply stare.
It's more than a game,
But less than my world;
I'll do it this time--
I give you my word.
This tension numbs me,
But makes me insane!
I'll walk away,
And without my cane.
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