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Aug 28
Last night i tried writing a letter again
I sat cross legged by the lamplight
I wrote sugarwater on the blackboard
There's nothing to say about death
All poetry is done
I wouldn't know a thing about it anyway
Do you feel nothing?
Is that worse?
I'll have to ask you about it sometime
I went to sleep with the lamp still on
I'll try again tomorrow
When i'm not so busy
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