Monday, June 20, 2016

Infinite Eulogies

I'm talking to myself.
It's like a rubbish soap opera that goes on and on.
You're not here, you will never be.

Maybe I'll play that Duke Ellington record.
Feel old.
Feel glorious.
Or maybe feel nothing at all. 

I don't want you.
I don't need you.
I just want all this pain to go away.

Move on.
But, for what? 

This?

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