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#spacing
21:48 I'm back to feeling ____ A) my emotions B) alone C) afraid D) burnt out E) happy F) better I'm back to feeling dea_ i_sid_ ? I'm back to feeling that username has been taken that username has been taken Forget password? 21:57 I'm back to feeling ____ G) All of the above swipe card or or select payme e nt type Password must be at lea a a a st 8 characters 23:45 I'm back to feeling like I need something
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Feb 27
Feb 27, 2026 at 9:06 PM UTC
How Can I Help You Today?
But i want to think— that is it! i want to recall them to reconcile with them i want to make peace with my memories Heart
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Dec 25, 2024
Dec 25, 2024 at 10:23 AM UTC
Today
The greater space One allows to The stronger base They hold Life will be Much simpler If only we know Whom to keep distance Whom to get close Whom to allow 1 sec Whom to hear more Whom to release free Whom to hold on Whom to welcome Whom to bid silence
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Oct 9, 2020
Oct 9, 2020 at 8:34 PM UTC
Rooting
Who dares enjoy your gold with you? What good is it Midas? It's contaminated. When will you, if ever, enjoy it again? Where is your preferred seating now? Why persist with your follies? Don't touch me.
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May 10, 2020
May 10, 2020 at 12:43 PM UTC
The Five W's of King Midas
Listen carefully It may deceive Being novel For the reasons unknown Corona is contagious Stay Ahead of it Or behind Spacing in between Trust me You will be safe Survivor's guide The way it is Okay?
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Feb 8, 2020
Feb 8, 2020 at 8:53 AM UTC
Alert
The old immor(t)al wound He tak es a gil den ro d mouthful Unaware of ichor Power. Deceit. Malice. co urs es thro ug h h is v e i n s and bleeds onto his w (abh)or (go)ld
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Feb 3, 2020
Feb 3, 2020 at 5:03 PM UTC
Tyrant
Devoted to your second hand Your  electrifying Admonishment   your   embrace   solidifying a    swirling    technicolor    land (move) Meant along your path engroove, bring           error receiver much to be desired
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Jan 31, 2020
Jan 31, 2020 at 7:10 PM UTC
Whiteface
Since feeling is first, and syntax is lies, To enscribe you, my darling little jay, I would have to ask, "Is there any way?" Not of mimsy guise and anything-dyes, But of nоnce-nonsense and everything-sighs, Keep these thoughts pastiche on a wayward bay, And perhaps leave them, removed on display, Entirely altogether? You are this fool's  ". . ." ". . ." as  '. . .' but  ". . ." Lea ve me ". . ." on, a . . . A skip!         for, ". . .   &      . . ."    "can"t; f o r get (love ". . .") and you, ". . ."
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Jan 31, 2020
Jan 31, 2020 at 5:17 PM UTC
My ". . ."
I hear you talk, I see your lips moving. The shape of your mouth forming letters after letters. I smile and agree. Eyes crinkle with mirth, My voice booms in the space between us and the silence of the universe. I see you, I hear you, But do I really? I'm there, but I'm not. I feel, but I don't. I smile, when I feel pain And I talk when I'm not sure what to say. It's not me you're talking to, But my body responding to you, Like an autopilot.
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Dec 22, 2019
Dec 22, 2019 at 12:46 PM UTC
Autopilot
A blanket of fractures, ample rigid structures A liquid                s                 e                  e                   p                    s              the   t   cold                      r         frigid   o   fragments                     u                     g               of   h   the                  north Where tufts gather in the sherbet of -frozen- dust The glistening indigo amongst the platinum blanket I shiver. The cutting wind admires the empty shell for I stood there Gazing at the noise Cut black. In transparent fallacy The temple of glass amongst the cold golden sun speaking       to                  -me- referring pointing                  g looking         at     n           -me-                              i                         ris                    up          in an warcry i t n e v e r s l e e p s but I awaken.
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Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 4:11 PM UTC
Permafrost
i will not t e a r myself a p a r t to make someone else WHOLE
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Dec 19, 2017
Dec 19, 2017 at 1:32 AM UTC
promise to myself
Tempo grave, sempre sospirando An inner nocturne When I am writing my own opus The ink stains carress my hand Crossed out lines, struck down I am my own symphony The sad tones of E flat minor Paint the walls of this chamber a naive black It creases the sheet music that I play The resonating chamber within its thorny grasp Keep my hands from playing As the melancholic tones Play their song on their own # The piano plays I         yet   have      to        compose The piano GLEAMS Something The piano SINGS that    keeps    me ||: The piano LINGERS From           choking        myself The piano SUFFERS In an           eternal        embrace The   p i a n o   SCREAMS :|| The   p i a n o   CHOKES The   p i a n o   DIES the       p i a n o Of              needles and             thorns D.S. Al fine, senza repetizione
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Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 5:56 AM UTC
Fantaisie für Klavier, C-dur
A cacophony of sound Muster no wavelengths too abundant For a master of space Designs time to their own will Short notes, l o n g t o n e s All resolve by a single click Strings       snapping HORN sounds |Bars| and -beats- are c a   s    c     a      d       i        n         g Deteriorating phrases accumulate to a white noise I direct and guide my symphony to the last note fermata
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Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 7:05 PM UTC
The Director, The Puppeteer
vigorous or calm it will always remind me of you. the smell of the sea brings back nostalgia. the same reassuring feeling you gave runs through my mind. stepping on the heated sand gives me the same warm sensation I got whenever I crossed your path. the wet sand forms with each step just like how my smile molded with each sweet word you spoke. the swift back and forth motion of the waves it's constancy having the same beautiful flow of your voice. watching the water crash against the rocks they hit hard against it without hesitation just as hard as it hit me when you told me there was somebody else. my heart dropped to the bottom of my stomach as fast as the stone I cast in the water sinks to the ocean floor. the tide finally glide past my ankles and I try to imagine someone else. it never works though. my fingers become numb with the thought that my image will never appear in your mind again. my eyes burn. I feel my throat get tight. I pretend the ocean reminds me of nobody. but once the tide goes down I only see your face washed up on shore.
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Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 4:40 PM UTC
The Ocean