51 lines
1.4 KiB
Text
51 lines
1.4 KiB
Text
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Driven To Death
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2022-03-09
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***
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"What's an operating system?"
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Whether they were being serious, I could never tell,
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but the question always hung over me like death's bell.
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And although camp is now disbanded and dead,
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still rings in a disused hall in my head
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the words penned on whiteboard in striking red:
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while all other girls were so much praise shot
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about their skills, their quests, their help,
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only written for me: "I guess she smiles a lot."
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And when I complained that I had put in
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more effort but barely anything received,
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Mom marched me to apologize
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even though in my eyes
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I had committed no crime.
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Just be happy with what you've got,
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with the crumbs we've thrown your way;
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never demand the more you're due,
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just smile and bear the pain.
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Just smile and bear the pain
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of being a prototype, forging the way
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to brothers to be done right, to be done at all,
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listened to, heard, given right to complain,
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and you yourself cast aside
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to either be shown up or prepared to die.
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I've failed the test on three separate times,
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so I know for sure I can't legally drive.
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If I need to get somewhere, either I catch a ride,
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call a bus, or gather my breath
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and bike.
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But you're driving me to death.
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You're running me raw.
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Soon, I think, there'll be nothing at all.
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Will you love me then, Mother, with Cheshire smile?
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A lot of what's praised
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and naught else remains.
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***
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CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander
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