1.6.18

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Racing thoughts and thorough disappointment.
I'm sorry I disappoint everyone.
The hourglass is ticking, I'll soon be out of sand.
The grains are slipping through the narrowed waist.
I'm slipping, too.
Alien tattoos, new piercings, moon phases etched down my arm over each and every scar.
I'm grasping at the stars,
desperately clinging to hope
that's nowhere in my cosmos.

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