they miss me when i'm not there
they worry after me when i'm gone
when i'm around nobody seems to care
when i'm here it's like i'm not-
the turtle sucks its head up into its shell and prays for hell,
the daisy blossoms, or something, a bee
lands between petals pretty and feels free
but only momentarily-
the need and instinct to sting is incredibly powerful,
the desire to love and be loved is nauseating;
sharpening teeth then lying flat on the floor
seems like it'd probably amount to more
more, more, more
than i can afford- what i have is what i will soon lose,
when i die make sure to tie tightly my boots, please.
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