its the little anxieties
that manifest
over time, the shape the body
and memory
the leftover path of a worm
is our brains.
Feet rubbed over and over,
by each other. terrible seconds before
the begining. wasted shudders
from reliving the thinking.
Developing recombinant patterns
while we lay helplessly asleep,
like victims, like tragedies, like comedies.
We are complex jokes for simple things like stars.
we smoke, we vibe;
perilous travels the fusion in a vacumn.
Fucking snoring,
I was writing.
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