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Ayatollah of Coca-Cola
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It's morning again and I'm still alive
The traffic in my bloodstream still carries on
Despite the weather
Despite the havoc that's been wreaked upon my system
Those medicating mixtures, hard to resist 'em
Though they do me harm
They're not without their charm
Those that see me only get to see the frame
The picture within just doesn't look the same
What you see are just wheels without tires
Keys without wires, smoke without fire
Shell with no tortoise, oyster with no pearl
It's not an adequate depiction
Of my bloodflow's harsh restriction
Deep inside a traffic jam
Horns drown out the sound
Hence why I'm late on the quickdraw
And hesitant to turn around
Maybe this urban mindset has me driving in circles
Trying to find a pit stop in the rearview
Meanwhile moving forward with nowhere to go
Passion lost, tight grip let go
I need the psychiatric mechanics
To fix me when I panic, to exhaust me when I'm manic
To keep me on course with precision
To shield me from head-on collision
Maybe I should try my motor out with a different kind of fuel
Be the exception to the rule
Search for a different jewel
Maybe then the windshield won't be a smokescreen
And I won't be stuck and late for lunch
Waiting for the light to turn green
 

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This is one of the poems that reminded me of a more introverted Modernist styled poem.

A touch of anxiety while relating it to your surroundings.
 
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