Thot

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The other shoe to drop and all we have are socks

and in this downpour of salt

the soles of our feet begin to rot
torn up and let
The laughs of the elders sought
no one here knows what to do with thought
the emptiness creates a cot
of confusion and muddy head
The heart feels sick
the stomach pained
the throat forgot your mother’s name
Leave it be or tend the mane
Sanity’s insane
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