it's nearly one o'clock in the morning now
i'm listening to my valentine's playlist and how......
poetry isn't about the pronouns, so I
fuck it all. i hear each beat
a progression of chords
but they don't resound,
restricted to the reality i just left
when i realized the crazy i am
shouldn't exist on this plane.
"to ascend the pain
is to die"
---------------can't be that crazy girl
got to have hope--human condition--
that tomorrow may bring meaning
to track three
i'm getting sick now,
it's that gut clutch-
that throat emote-
there's nothing sexy about dying
from want.
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