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Mar 2015
the most sickening of feels

when you want to write all the words
but its hard to write any

my mind races
the pen gushes
the keys stick
the paper is soggy
the interwebz is broke
my notebook is lost

i want to numb myself
all the ways

but i cant
not i wont
let my vices dictate me
because they have for so long
the ones we shared
and look where we ended up

now my muse
isn't even here to admire the work

the words
the lines
the stanzas
the verses

all written for him, and only him

will be unread by his eyes
what's the point?
Jane Tricky
Written by
Jane Tricky
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