I hope that the realest thing I've felt isn't in the past,
Written about 2 weeks ago.
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In the red cubicle: black snakes in my ears
I smoked wistful breaths
Hearing the smell of sentiments
Worn, a million times before
Neither pain, not regret
Not the burden want
of those wanton hours; sands of a distant shore
.
And so the four would shift
Ups and downs like we once did
The purpled sky and the yellowed moon
painted with those flecks of bats
I'm older now, dear
Far as far and far from here,
Do I still wish you were near?
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