shed

Rusted bike bodies
Like limbless torsos
Line the walls

Metal panels
Broken window with a rotted wood frame

In the smudges of the cleanest sheet of steel in the shed
I could see my distorted shape staring in judgment of myself

Getting revenge against someone who never hurt me
Frantically trying to make justifications even in the moment

A strange compulsion drags myself back to that shed from time to time
To get tortured until the day I die
In the same damp spot where beer was spilt, and will never dry 

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