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Nov 2017
its dark, cold and full of echoes
when i whisper.

there is barely oxygen,
im breathing but my lungs feel empty.

i can almost taste
the loneliness in the air.

very very bland,
and meaningless.

if i could use a explicit word,
i wouldnt.

The walls,
they admonish.
An existential vaccuum, they call it. but thats too fanciful for me. i would settle for an empty heart.
Broccoli
Written by
Broccoli  18/F/singapore
(18/F/singapore)   
  384
     Rick the shoe shine boy, --- and trf
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