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She hated it dearly.

The thing doing its thing.

Always, never not, going.

On and on.

Hating, always and always.

Never off.

On and on.


She didn’t know how to stop it.

The thing.

The Thing.

Out of control.

Out of her control.

Out of her hands.


She had it.

In her hands.

Holding on.

For life.

Her own.

Holding on for dear life.


Dear, Thing.

Please, let go.

She pleaded.

She pleaded for it to stop going.

Always doing.

Never could she stop it.

Never could she control it.


The thing she hated.

The Thing.

She hated it.

The Hate.


NOTE: (The following breaks the mystery of the writing process. Proceed if you wish.) Wrote in a fury during frustration with an outside source. Reflecting and turning the frustration around and onto the hate itself, while turning out a poem, helped ease my suffering and damaging the purity of any person, place, or thing out of my control.

For October spookiness, watch the variations of one story below:

Dan Jones

Author Dan Jones

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