this city will eat your heart

it is not like dying, or suffocating
it is just the mortal inability of forgetting things
the compulsive routine of addiction towards it


it is the silly things that don’t go the way i imagined them to be
the way people say my name
or my handwriting in the morning
or how pictures turn out
that don’t lend themselves to elaborate their hollow nuances
kind of like a black hole

i suppose it is just me, in this space
soaking up vibes i thought would help me feel (something)

i hate the brackets but they felt appropriate
you see these things they never really go away


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