this space is cluttered.
i forgive it,
but it's illusions evaporating,
it's hope pretentious and rusted.
almost time to roll over
almost time to bail
finding it too comfortable
this amorphous solid
this mouthless place
where words come already diverted
and completely without faith.
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1 comment:
ouch. (you prolly just need someone to scratch your tummy.)
well written as usual.
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