I admit that I had a dream,

And in it, you wanted me dead.

So with pride in my cunning,

I went out, and fabricated false histories

I built fences, and lowered domes, around and over my house.

I lifted weights until my arms were useless, and wrote you a love-letter

Designed to confuse and destroy ya.

I fasted, and stayed up, and got stuck in the corner of the room

Now I’m a turret, a fixture of a one-sided WAR,

Only speaking in murmurs of a pitiful code I developed like a tic

Once a mantra, to fortify me against your wickedness.

You had a dream of a field of poppies,

Or something else much like it

And you woke up to find me like this.

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