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Flat tire

The itch is calling again
HIV positive denials
you paid us good

fears emerge everywhere
among every course
and touch and exchange

the days of innocence
are gone down and out
distrust may I please borrow
your void?

this entire wagon
on my neck
doesn't turn around in time
very well

managed phantom terror
missing parts and parts and parts
I speak of
I don't speak of

it's quiet and warm here. A melting half remaining bar of chocolate on the handbook. My feet sweat under the thousand blankets. Yellow glow drives around and exits from the holes. Stand up, button up. Stand up, button up. Hands out of the pockets. Stand up, button up. Most of this part spent in silence and hideousness, stand up, button up, it was expected.

Stand up
button up.