i am the cigarettes in the pond that is a toilet
in the thumping bass that is the movement

so contrite
so unmotivated
so principal
so intoxicated

perplexed unto reality that is so
constipated much unlike the trees
that sway in a wind swept fire
moving about running in landlocked
desire

never is there enough
caffeine to move you when you least need to be
never is there an alarm where it needs to be
where are we all?
upstairs where we should be

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