You cling to me like dead trout swinging from my ears, but I must rip you out & toss you in the trash for your crimes that knee-bashed my youthful years, but not before one last time holding you like the molding memory you are, dying in my grip, to make sure, eyeing you atop my cosmic flower, your nostalgic power over my future me-to-be will be but a blur, but a blip.
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