Thursday, February 19

another wasted night
you cock your head to the side
suddenly you're something else
you're like a traffic jam, then the cars move
or kicking the sidewalks with written-on shoes
like my conscience on a high
like a mighty sigh
'cause you're a calculator
whose numbers i can't stop tapping
it's almost infinity
then we would reach the end
who would we offend?

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