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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Its about Ions man

Submitted: March 01, 2014

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Submitted: March 01, 2014



~~She keeps fucking drowning
 (Over and over)
 And the hair
 spreads out above the water

 I am happy
 And I think less about things than I used to

 I think it might be strange
 That I can still walk
 And yet not think

 But people still accept me as sane
 And tell me my life is anything but mundane
 Stuck in the interspace

 There are a lot of wires
 feeding my arm
 I wonder when they’ll go away?

 I wonder when the people will come back?
 There are seventeen cups of tea
 Surrounding my chair
 (But sometimes I don’t really think they’re there)

 Blue has the shortest wavelength
 And therefore hurts my eyes the most
 If curtains didn’t exists; nor would I

 My friend told me I am too introspective
 and consequently should wear less grey
 But grey scarves are all I think about

 Found floundering in the ionosphere
 Taken home
 And never put to bed

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