carrying--valiant as ants--
relics of their fallen friends.
They see me turn muddy, as I
drink me (60% water, baby)
You'd think I am called grief.
I'm keeping an eye out for you
yearning for you for when you
are already inside (my head)
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when tenderness descends
even as a world we knew is ending in the fullness of indifference a new year is beginning another time will soon need assembly we'll...
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