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Today, out of habit,
I hid behind someone else’s words,
complete with riffs and the works.

Today, out of habit,
I found myself in someone else’s words,
complete with riffs and...the bloody works.

Stuck between my
fear of emotional strip poker
and fetish for vain walls
(that no one’s paying for),
I told you, him and her that
inertia was my only problem.

It's not.

The real catch was that I had just plain given up
on, you know, questions as painful as
“Where are my own words?”