There’s no revolting face
Taking the place of a macabre mask.
There are no deep-seated scars
Scratched into the gnarled veins of my Psyche.
There’s no empowering emotion
Eating away at my internal organs.
There’s no discernible reason
For me to purposely exceed the speed limit of my voice.
Who’s a slave to his own routine.
Who you see on the street every morning.
Who grew up like the everychild.
That plain, old, ordinary guy.
I was born and raised on 514 Boyd,
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