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Just how long can a grown man suck his thumb I absently consider mid-stumble Just how deep are the depths I've yet to plumb When does self-awareness start to crumble? I've hesitated so long I've grown old As the miscues of my youth get sorted But, then, had I been too overly bold The whole process might have been aborted Perhaps because I was mad as a hatter My very condition should me absolve I could not focus on things that matter Until the madness began to resolve (filling this space with a rhyming couplet shall have to wait until I dream up it . .) |
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