a sponge sops up everything
and aides my soft heart
the surface of my soul is tough
like a pickle is.
the contents of the Big Blue Box
renew me,
and are moisturizing
to my naughty mind.
but i am not to say
what is naughty.
our minds are constructed
to know right
from naughty.
the Big Blue Box
holds the key
to our skull features.
unlock my brain -
release my thoughts
of paint peeling
on the ceiling.
and i wander
down to the yellow
stick on the floor
where the body glove
holds me and
shaves the hair
off of the back
of my bleeding
hands.
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