you've left me
scrawled and
scribbled
like a bad poem:
the stripped
bare and sleepy
bare and sleepy
kind that strangers
skip over
thick sections
of, wishing
it were over.
Even you
could think
of nothing
but the end,
how badly you
wanted it.
thick sections
of, wishing
it were over.
Even you
could think
of nothing
but the end,
how badly you
wanted it.
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