Clean Sheets

I’m cold. I am really cold. Nostalgic car rides and sun beams are giving me headaches. What if my eyes were blue or green instead of this dirty copper penny color? Oh, one can wish. All I ever want is blinding happiness.

Am I the only one required to make a call? When I do, does it matter or is it forgotten? Why do I always have to tie the knot? I’m a fucking human.

Uninspired and cold. I want to go drown in a bath with a record playing. They can find me after the record finishes and the only sound is the the repetition of the needle and dust cracking. I’ll die one day but probably not until I’m old, withered and too tired to not be silent.

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