My mind is missing certain innards,
and rough, unworn by others' cares.
Its terrain is perfect to give rage
traction,
and I have been upon the point of
action.
My mind has taken bloody rides,
Seen them to my unfelt other side.
I have known those further gone.
I wonder only why I'm not one,
Wonder if who I should be
Is crippled, cut off at the knees.
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