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underground Category: Poems
I envy the underground. I think of them from my morning coffee to my last blink before sleep. their cold hands hold onto the remains of their memories under their own engraved cement. even the warmth of my morning toast frightens me - let alone the warmth in my body when the sun rises, I leave my jacket behind - on purpose this time, and hope that it rains today and I wonder where the train stops, or is it like me? the train is full of warm bodies yet I ask myself if I’m the only one.
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