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apathetic. Sincerely, drugs
Folder:
Bad poetry The ineffable angles of clouds
the small apartment
I don't want to write about it anymore. Different legs
from outside keep stumbling in to see me
I'm as quiet as allowed
for an hour let's pretend
our hearts still make noise
no one will try to wake us
nor remove us. It is the East
and Juliet is the Sun
I'm so tired of the lines
that run through everything. The whole planet is made of sand
clustering into little hills
tiny insects
shimmering bits.
