when i last heard this song i was better, i was in hell but i was managing: i would not have stabbed my arm with a fork because i forgot where my knife was kept, i would not have spent the next day staring at the small break in the skin— thinking about nothing, feeling… Continue reading poem: disenchanted
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i could be bound in a nutshell and count it as infinite space if not for these bad dreams
the last pavilion 