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Suicidal Doe?Suicidal Doe?
It was an eerie Sunday morning as I packed my overflowing bag of clothes and books. I sat on my bag in hopes it would be easier to zip shut as excitement of going home relieved my bored vibe of the three days of nothingness. It was a weekend up North, just like any other, with a hint of laziness. My father had to work all weekend so he was idle. Working on the computer all day long in cubicles puts my mind in wonder. Its just something I dont understand why anyone would want the sort of job where you sit at a computer all day long typing in codes and working on programs. It was nicer on the weekends for him although, hed get to sit around in his pajamas in all bummness and wait for someone to call and take care of his work from there, helping the person on the other line with computer problems and so on.
My mother on the other hand, is a nurse. When she has to work weeken
may as well buy another packcollapse, and breathe into the carpet:
sunday mornings are not
for falling apart, but damn
the amphorics, this
is not an atmosphere.
you fell in love like you always
wish you didn't, made all their
smiles replaceable, interchangeable,
fell asleep with shadows and kept
drinking, just letting yourself sleep
with blue pills
and tried not to scream.
(keep this image in your head:
fire and nectarines, a sudden jerk
of realization, inspiration
breaking your neck and leaving you forever
breaking bones is not so different
from breaking hearts - it's all about
the leverage, the angle, the mode
(and at least it wasn't personal;
it can color in your own guilt
for starting lines and never ending
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