You distort me.
You make me sound like ships
Crashing wayward
On the Atlantic,
While planes paint patterns
Overhead with chemicals
Compounding me.
You distort me,
But I'm not like the things you are.
I'm in a submarine world
Hogging oxygen
And selling bottles for profit
Keeping you for myself.
You distort me,
And you do as I write,
Writhing like a caterpillar
when it's raining vinegar
From the vineyards
Of Vinegar Trees.
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