I see you in a fit of fury,
Your face, your fists, a sight getting blurry.
So I draw the only weapon at hand,
Pierce the air with my laughter. I
Can not, will not, must not
“Stop laughing!”
As you shower me
With words, words printed
In books, books printing
Blues over my burning body.
Because I am your property,
Because I am not part of thee,
Because I am Galatea
With a shattered knee.

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