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What is there to do in this lonely room My passion keeps me going, yet I’m still sad I guess all artists are a little mad.
“Roomz” by me.
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i dropped off my resume at this place at 1:15 and got called for an interview at 1:45 holy dang
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women be crawling frantically on all fours around the perimeter of their room peeling off the wallpaper
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a man: *gives me his opinion*
me not absorbing any of that information:
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coffin
(I don’t post writing often but only late at night when I have the illusion of no one being here.)
everyday is your burial
do you live in ceremonious fear?
or do the moments go for granted,
like the ones between
me
between
you?
everyday your coffin is polished
(but inside the world pollutes)
I would air it out or take you outside
but then my clothes would cease
to smell
like you.
everyday I plan to bury you and you don’t even feel it.
How, on days like these,
I’m brave enough to lower you down myself,
carry your beautiful weight once more on my fractured shoulders that you won’t let heel
(but it has been a while since I last changed my cast.)
everyday it rains so the earth softens
and I can’t bear to think of you being swallowed by another.
...
Today the sun burns us
so the earth hardens where I stand
and I can’t bear to hear you rattle in your coffin.
everyday I wait
within the weight
of your wonderful youth
and think of how i gave it all to you.
Today I grow older,
coroner I’ve become
mummifier of few
and everyday
I wait for you.
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