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Apr 20
Drunk, sloppy
*****, wipe, *****.
Wipe your mouth, get up.
*****.

It's getting to feel tedious baby,
The conversational tone,
The space outside my brain.
The *****.

I'm long familiar here,
The floor greets me
Like an old friend.
Like it doesn't hurt.

I stumble, and fall
As the blood escapes my skull
I mourn all the good *****
That I'm losing

And the headache
Unites me with the galaxy through the tile
And from this point of view
Things are looking up

And oh, God! the *****
Written by
Albert Oscar Rhodes
87
 
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