Written August 12, 2010

nothing is real.
nothing I feel
is anything


a document
won’t fix it.

a year to bury
the regret,
the secret,
in hopes to evade
the damnable


I’m too scared to hear it.
I’m too scared to answer.

‘cause it’s not fucking real;
there’s no situation,
no rationalization—

I’m just a tired mess,
waiting for my sentence.

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