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Slave

Ive run out of things to say. Ive exploited my own grief, my love and loss, the very life of me for the sake of inspiration, poem after poem after poem. Who are you? Reading this? Who am I? Do you know? I can assume that there are things youve come to know, through my online profile, a little picture on a screen, yeah thats me, do you think Im pretty? Talented? Tell me what you see behind my pixilated eyes. Am I human or simply a slave to the internet machine?

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