Sunday, January 26, 2014

The Sparse Chichilad

Hovering above the bed
that gravity used to beat me
down on, all accounts comfortably,
has now been broken within sincerity.

Time has been sparse for writing about
my withering state of wanting to live.
I get no attention because I do not
know how to properly get attention.

Space has been expanding
in conjuncture to my never-ending
search for nothingness.
I will take myself to Starbucks.

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