be my last

silencewish I knew myself someone showed me tenderness and sincerity and the raw skin beneath a wound still pink and softsilence
I had no doubts though I was turning blue too quickly from grey to blue
time doesn't stop the jostling doesn't, either passerby passing by just passing by
just here to pass me by like a muffled whisper; inaudible indistinguishable
just h
--
I'll think of something amusing to put here later.
--
"Frankly, I have no taste for either poverty or honest labor, so writing is the only recourse left for me." - Hunter S. Thompson
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