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In celebration of silence, a perspired treasures worked for by others. I'm ungrateful in a ways—I'm more interested in the weather.

I'm thinking of a place that doesn't exist, a crop formation in my head planted by the dead missing their lonely children while watching me purposefully overdose on Class C narcotics. I don't deserve it. I carelessly pant on the oxygen they cherish just the way our breath seeks life. They watch me fucking and forgetting. Speeding by the exits, I saw beauty in not ever looking back.

Wasted choices scream their voices. I'm alive and among the dead gathered around my head expecting me to open my arms to a deity among my astral plane. They follow me in my trails waiting for me to find a meaning I've yearned for. They know and I know that the place I'm looking for, the open fields, the warm sensations, the real.

We are all on the wrong side of the wall. I wish you could hug your children and complete your lives while i watch alone as everything.