not much passes through,
how can solitude some days be iiiinfinite blisssss
and some days be
like this?
no, some days are me alone in a room with
a pile of plastic bags,
a jam jar of whiskey,
and an infinite navelgazer.
my socks come on and off
and where does the time go?
what does a room even mean when it has the internet in it?
I'll be gentle with myself, because when it's time to do,
this fall I fucking showed myself, I know I can fucking do.
and some days, I'm there, but
lately, so much I say
I guess I feel better for making the space for the lump
to rise up.
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