there’s something about desperation
that i know better,
like the back of my hand
i want to hold your hand,
hold you in my hand
and never let you go like a captured frame.
my body could weight
less than the width of space in my door,
it would weight as much as the fumbling curtains
and let’s not think about the shoulds.
between the wasting nights and blundering haze
i think only money can compensate for my incompetency
but on days like these
that’s harder to buy than money
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