Making love to black wires, my feet burn.
I'm sweating.
Who's behind my window?
I'm tired
And I wanna swim in my ceiling.
"Is it just me or is it hot in here?"
.
.
.
.
Don't speak my name; it makes me feel lonely…
Lonelier…
I wish I knew how to swim…
It is a strange sort of pain
"to die of yearning for something you'll never experience"
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