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(no subject)
15yrs
branchlimbs
glued to the inside of sheets,
sweating, thrashing bizarre dreams
the car sits cold in the driveway,
class doesn't miss the absent today.
the center of me rips away and skips past,
within seconds I'm leaps and bounds behind.
"don't give up on me," once spoken, sounds like
a house that no one would want to occupy,
made of tin and paper, has a new leak every day
and I am the sad, slow ghost that haunts it.
I'd like to find those sounds, swallow them back down,
announce instead that it's due time to give up on this,
abandon the messy construction of reckless decisions
and hop the train bound toward a sturdy, pre-stocked home.
But you go ahead; I need just five more minutes
tucked into sheets, haunting this one-big-leak
I need just one more underwater dream.


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where are you?

i'm back from palestine and you're gone.

come back.

I'm here, just don't know what to say, and if anyone's listening

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?

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