Some Wisdom For Myself, Maybe (#2)

(TW: Language)



I’ve got all this shit settled in, populating between my temples

And it comes out in movements, like all the people I can’t handle meeting

Coming out and enveloping and leaving me between where I was and their new formations


And I study them, with all this blank desire of only wanting to understand their reasons

But all they do is build their new forms, always outward from the center

And because we both are empty I cannot move them


I’ve laughed at myself for days

Trying to make actual rhyme of the shit in there

But it only comes out in triplets or so

And never complete


Things are dying, they said

And I said I couldn’t see why


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