I didn't feel bad. because
you didn't want to be my friend anymore, to take on-in taking on
moving on
I said you
you look at me constantly , not through me not for me you're just
looking and your eyes are on fire how long would it take me to stencil every tiny red line some are a lot
longer, I can't keep up this distaste for you I think last week I started to enjoy it. and the acceptance I had made, with my self, of your death, and your glorious "re"birth, yes
when you walked past, not light , terrible, fear, a cold front
you clomped by in your dirty boots and I cried
that floor had meant more than, anything at that moment
no life no death, you could have died 800 times I wouldn't
so, this is what is real, I said and I didn't clean the dirt, I let myself

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