licking the crumbs of the toast off of my plate in the middle of the night

drunk, and feeling pretty beautiful

happy to be alone, and finally home in peace

didn't even look at the night sky that reminds me of what was

swaying, trying to remember the thing that i wanted to write

but i can't, and i probably won't and they were probably

actually good and true for once; that's what it feels like

arms ache with their emptiness, and skull aches with its use

not that i desire anything, but simply getting used to disuse

the snow is melting and the water it becomes glistens

hurts the eye until you've stared a while

taken the beauty in to your glistening soul shaped

elliptical and wandering curved just right like the shape ice melts

Moi, j'avais jamais rien dit. Rien

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