Assigned


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I’m too cold.
But, I’m not callous.
I believe I’m meant to be alone,
Even though
My deck of cards contain malice.
I have a heart of gold
Because I believe in
Good balance.

What do you say?
I’m cerebral.
Do you pray?
Or fight against evil?
I can be your part-time hero.
And even then
I will let you down
By being in the middle.

And what do you say?
I’m detached, dislodged.
I don’t belong here.
I’m only a fog.
I’m a burn in a throat –
A clear strict scotch.
An aftershock full of scars,
Just you watch.

And what can I say?
I want a young sharp mind.
I want it primed, full of rhymes
And perfectly timed.
I want to cuddle with an objective book.
You can join me,
But get your own.
I prefer when things are assigned.

-Pennington

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