Maybe I’m just hazy
All of this talk of writing is making me fucking crazy
Maybe it’s heightened by expectations and the need to feel validated
At all times I have created
Mystery
I asked seven people today if they wanted pancakes with me
No takers
No blueberries on my tongue to satisfy my need for existence
So again I eat alone
I grimace at the ugly face on the other side of lonely
That other word for lonely that we’ll call
Forgotten
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