Wednesday, March 18, 2015

845am

GASPING FOR AIR THROUGH BAITED BREATH FOR A SHAKY UNCERTAIN FUTURE
YOU CAN HEAR MY DEATH RATTLE FROM SOME THREE HUNDRED MILES AWAY
LIKE A MAKESHIFT MATING CALL
LIKE THIS COULD BE ALL I COULD MUSTER
TOSSING AND TURNING EACH NIGHT TO THE RHYTHM OF ETERNAL DISAPPOINTMENT
MYSTIFIED AND HORRIFIED THAT THINGS COULD BE THIS MEDIOCRE
AND I JUST HOPE YOURE SICK
THAT YOURE ALL SICK, TOO


  "talk to me
  like lovers do"

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