finished tale

i feel like
a half gnawed
apple core
tossed onto the side of road
and left to fester
with ants
on my corpse

a mouth eaten flag
waving limply
in the breeze

a cipher
indecipherable
overly complex
for such a
simpleton

whenever
i finish
what i set out to do
i am left
drained of will
filled with
the throbbing headache
of over stimulation

i am
a punctured sex doll
with gritty
duct tape residue
where
a last ditch patch
failed to sustain
my viability

i am
a writer
at the end
of one tale
dreading the next

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