waiting outside in the shadebut then triangular rectanglesdo that sometimes.getting nearer to the sourcegetting nearer to remorse. i watched the slippery spoonstir my coffee without the sugarrat poison drink.I see you through the windowno gall or mind to speak though nothing is what it iswhen your sheets hate youempty spot beside menow that you are his. i never asked for freedomjust a soul that cared enough to smilecompassionatelightly tapping the tightropeimagining some slight hope

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