FINE

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You look me square in the eyes 

and you ask me 

how am I doing 

on a scale 

of one to ten? 


If I offered you the truth 

you would recoil from it 

resent the weight of it 

grow angry at its sharp edges 

disappointed by the familiar gloom 


You won't like the answer 

no matter how I word it 

you'll get upset with me again 

so I'll tell you 

that I'm doing  just fine 

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