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Me, Myself, and I

It's not a mistranslation of tone.
He is that
Dead. The voice you use when reading aloud
 instructions from a limp faded booklet.
How much is worth giving? To him?

I am related by only one sexual partner
To the most beautiful poet.
Well, she's plain, but oh so
And talented.
an angel.

My black eye looks like makeup.
I'm in the mood to complete the look
I started two nights
Ago by shutting a window on my own face.

I don't feel well traveling
Without my cat.

I'm thinking "I
Should really put on
Anything right now"
And you text me
"Get ready" I watch
The communications form
And then firm.

I admire her.
I aspire to her.
I'm listening to her
Podcast right now.

And then
He says he likes what
Makes me different from her.

Sweating in bed. Green
Gas forms. Hot fumes rise
And worms. Billions. They
Crawl up the walls.
"Hey whatcha up to?"


Photographer: Ruby Burgess

Writer: Maddie Ruckle

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