2012-01-01
breaking down
The floor collapses around my bed. So I sleep more. I pretend I sleep in outter space. I wake up and wish I could write a poem for sick and dying fathers. But I consistently fail everyone as much as I fail myself. I telephoned my mother or my sister or someone else I used to know. All the telephones are left in the desert, footprints printing away into unknown distance.
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