storm.

my mind works quicker than it takes you to turn the story back to you.

compare yourself to me.

tell me you are literally me.

no room in your shallow to empathize.

never an ounce of sympathy in your whiskey.

forgive me as my eyes roll away into a dry, deathly, boredom.

thinking i could be entertained by a lazy boy like you was my own, wishful, mistake.

 

 

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