Truth’s made me reckless.
I appear anything but,
I know, sitting on a bench
In a nearly empty park
On a bright morning.
The way I move is cautious,
But the truth is I can’t feel
Distinctions between the hard,
Icy things that could harm me
And decisions that kill me.
I can’t even feel
Sure decisions do kill me.
It seems like they’re doing the job,
But here I am to write this.
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