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  • Writer's pictureTweakUnique


I’m sitting on my stoop next to an almost empty beer.

And I’m cold, alone, and honest throughout.

But I don’t understand what it is I fear.

And I’m lost. What is this all about?

The pavement stares back at me.

Insultingly empathetic.

It seems to glare at me.

You’re fucking pathetic.

And I wish, wonder, and wander.

Just inches from my gate.

But there’s no room to ponder.

How is this my fate?

How self-righteous I’ve become.

Thinking that I must matter.

Now I will succomb,

but I wouldn’t rather…

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