Ypsilanti tonight is like a ghost town. There is no J. Mascis, only the fog. The glow of streetlights are like ghosts. The rotating sign of the liquor store is like Moses at midnight. "I dreamt about you last night and I fell out of bed twice. You can pin and mount me like a butterfly, but 'Take me to the haven of your bed' was something that you
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may be [just?] a result of supressing the activity/passion we long for [need] (your above paragraph), a result of knowing we sometimes waste our lives by not taking full advantage of them-- so we inflict the dramatics we desire in whatever [negative] way we can.
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Melissa Sanchez
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