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I’m Too Sober for You to Be Murdering Me Right Now

I’m sorry I feel so much
and have no sense to feel
with. I lie
on the floor of a furnished
room. Seems
like an awful thing to do. My friends get high
to come down from their anxieties — they’re on
the ceiling. I love rugs and tough
feelings. I shove some metal
between my teeth. I say to myself
come down, come down.
— hand on my bloody
heart.

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