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The Wheel

My wheel. Your sheets. The dark in which we turn. Your jaw’s clenched tight with debts you haven’t paid. You think I’m trapped by what I’ll never learn— Dear sir, I’ve learned it all. You just obeyed. I’ve watched you thumb that glowing little god, your face gone slack, lips parted, barely there. You scroll the same bright nothing, overawed. Your eyes keep feeding. Nothing fills that prayer. I’ve…