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Pressure Cooker Beings

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Steam crawling out of the seams. A pressure cooker in my skull begging to be released.

Current existence is bleak when I have to start comparing the brain to a plastic appliance that has hundreds of clones.
The churning muscle capable of dictating an army of organs while containing enough space to dream.

An ever-expanding source of power shrunken. Trapped inside a blood-filled tomb always demanding food.
Molded to wake up five days a week to perform the important duty of pushing buttons to operate a screen.

I can hear the cries of those begging to pull the magic out of the tangled web of nonsense labeled as information.
Envisioning a life outside of the instruction manual we’ve been given.

But the plain eyes critique those that don’t fold into the tapestry of living that has been forcefully sewn.
Throwing daggers to deflate the hopes and chances of expansion.

Sit still. Pay the bills. Be small.

© 2022 Tezzra

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