Shredded paper scattered on the floor. Poetry in a endless circle of motion. Prefixes, roots, syllables. All strewn together in a helpless manner screaming right in front of my face. I write to feel numb. I brush my fingers against my own cheek and feel nothing. There's something to be said about hotel rooms. How they're always cold right when you
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Comments 25
[Welcome. We should talk.]
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[Thanks. We should.]
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Take care of you. x
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[welcome *sobs*]
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[Thank you. Don't cry.]
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[You're welcome. I'll try. <3]
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