Finding out too late some tallies never fade.
And oh so suddenly,
it’s all about me.
And just maybe, lately,
you’re the reason my
eyelids aren’t clumsy.
Are we at repressed
confessions yet?
Oh, I’ll bite my tongue then,
apologize for premature
idealization.
I stumbled in, lumbering
heavy conscience in tow.
But I’ll exit ever so lightly,
empty after everything.
Ian had it right the whole time,
eight says it all.
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