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abstract abnormality, worthless in make or use to society whose features are grossly disproportionate, unoriented, with mind like fucking yarn made to unravel—but first kids are always the fuckups. Meant to lead the others astray, the test dummy without a helmet who is hurtled toward certain doom but that’s ok, because a smile can always be painted on. Because if I don’t appear happy at my own destruction then there’s something wrong with me, the undead who’s told that it doesn’t need sleep just brains, a mouth that’s mute but smiling all the same, because I have to live up to my name. I am not a Rubik’s cube whose sides and parts fit an algorithm meant to be solved, but you still aren’t listening gave up halfway through the rant, how the fuck would I ever believe that you could understand someone, something like me. Know who I am whose story can be found in the horror section of the library because truth is truth and truth is nonsense to you. I know about me, but who the fuck are you?

64 garrett

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Red Cedar Review Vol. 54  

Red Cedar Review Vol. 54