you invite the pain
like a respectable dinner guest
you share a cigarette
in your dimly lit, mostly brown apartment
there are oranges and reds, oranges and reds
but only in your head.
you converse about how beautiful your life is
when it's tragic.
look at all the things you have
to draw and sing about now.
Author notes
this isn't done. this isn't organized. this probably isn't even good. i'm angry. so angry.
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