I slept through most of the sun today as if I never cared for what birds have to say. Calling quits inbetween coughing fits from the tar in my lungs I welcome to stay. Won't you humor me and indulge the cliche, I'm quiet cause I got nothing to say. It persists in the way I exist so I keep my head and try to feel okay. Am I more than what I know or am I simply what I see? I'm a shell of who I was and of who I'm going to be. But my sense of self is something I guess is up to me. But I can't breathe. I just can't breathe.
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