shangri la we are beautiful, we are doomed
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Forking Lives

who knows what seeds are planted in the soil i made my coffee from this morning
doubt, amity or sunflowers
I always end up drowning whatever in my life I am trying to grow

be it by drinking, sorrow or intensity
it’ll always shrink away from me



we seem to be stupidly cyclical, like the weather
our sun and our storm in quick succession
dark cold winters forgotten in summer hazes every time


 there was a ghost in your room that would make lights flash at 3 in the morning

maybe it’s the same one that haunted me through my phone under your name
sleeping patterns aligned, you’d become the spirits you over consumed


I’ll end up wearing cardigans and fading duller by the day

and you’ll be giving pretty girls the line of your jaw to trace

they’ll tap their white sticks to blindly build homes between your lips

and you told me you would quit,
you never did

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