Brush your teeth with the minty flavored,
lies you wake up to every morning.
You think bread sits long without
molding you into something you're not?
What color blindness do you have?
Striped and plaid socks on your feet
slid into electronic shoes that
harmonize the miles of treacherous
word ladders.
There's a thin line between falling and flying,
or is there?
How far can you fall without feeling to fly?
Ten minutes,
or until the next train of unoriginality
pulls into someone's imagination.
Pieces of fool's
emotions stuck in between talented minds.
Candy coated death asks,
"Why must I try to write healthy?
Will toothpaste stop these rotting cavities?"
Must we drill a hole in your head to prove
That brushing our minds with your sugarless poetry
doesn't disguise the fillings you lack.
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