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When my environment becomes pointed
and dew tastes sharp as embers
You'll find me collecting piles of sand
and stale water
I am not together
I'm only a debtor
to my memories

Always waiting for a calamity to snake out of the clouds
To sever formless anger and dreams of only death and anxiety
Relistening to old tapes of myself chanting at reflections
Throwing salts to a fire further blackening
Unspooling my own torment to hold onto some sense of control
Eyelids that slide down with resistance still

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