Everyday I think about it
Wonder how full it is.
Of communication intercepted
By my own inability
To accept my life.
Bringing it inside means
It belongs to me.
They have reached me,
With an expectation of response.
Pretending you do not exist
Means I owe you nothing.
Sometimes I see you
And I put you back.
Save you for tomorrow
or the next day.
Sometimes I just drive
right by you
Fuck it.
You're just junk anyway.
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