I'm tired of two-dimensional characters,
cardboard stands, and speech balloons.
With practiced emotions and plastic hearts
they parade their ever-changing skin under
furling banners of pride drinking in the
stinking glue they use for blood. Bleeding
souls with the transparent selfless
flesh they feed upon. My own stop-sign
singed from burning, licking lips.
Reaching inside moldy lunch boxes their
hands sparkle under freshly donned rainbow
sprinkles slicing into my real flesh with their
tried and true twinkie defense.
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