My place is quiet as it was around this time 3 years ago.
My head hurts because I want to write something, but
I don’t know exactly what to say tonight.
I keep thinking about the faces that keep coming up in
My head. All of them familiar but missing in action,
So far away that they almost feel like a figment of my
Imagination, antagonists in my life story in fiction form.
I think I called a few of them friends, some of them even
My best. Studying the characteristics of their make up makes
Me question the authenticity, but no matter: I still wonder
Where they’ve been, if they have left me or if I’ve abandoned


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