i bit my tongue before it could reel in sympathy,
proclaiming grand tragedy, lame lamb sighs,
crying into your cable knit sweater,
lying spread eagle on your floor,
propping it shut, head jamming the door,
we are subjective recluses,
on our exclusive grand tour,
I'll block out the others,
I'll tell you much more,
more than the sadness I told you before,
I'll bleed out your sympathy from my bed on the floor.
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These are, for the most part, poems.
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