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Mind is burning

Another petty crime discussed by the jury

Whining and already wasting in a hurry

And time is racing and turning

Over brain-storming hardly learning

Insane stories this wooden floor is worn

Out are more poems just boring torn

Over these past glories subconscious oratories

To the surface not sure the purpose yet perhaps the worst is

Yet to boast toast roast and coast

For these caught thoughts ought naught

To be

Forgotten I guess unless

A lot is in

A night I might bite

My lip a bit that’s it oh shit just

Slightly with tightly

Closed eyes yet who knows

Out the window the wind blows, I see three tall trees in throes

Now I’m taking stock of the alarm clock

Spinning over my bed my body’s like lead it’s dead

Unlocking the phone so

Postpone the

Morning’s near

 


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