You're probably off somewhere,
having fun, making eyes with someone,
while
I'm just sitting here reading Bukowski,
thinking to myself how much
I want to be in the same place as you.
You make me happy,
and there's nothing wrong with that.
So why does it feel that way?
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Shut Your Eyes (February 2011 - August 2011)
PoésieI'm like an actor who forgets his lines because of stage-fright. I can't trust myself. So let my writings speak for my heart and for my head, let them say the words I can't say aloud. This is all I've got, since being quiet and contemplative hasn't...