waiting rooms have a strange gravity to them. this one knew more of me than I meant to share. maybe it lands somewhere close to you.
waitINgRooM waiting for someone to call my name is an anxiety machine/music in my headphones’ the only thing keeping me slow/sitting on forms, back to the wall,/TV screen goes static to snow/people here all look like Saturday cartoons/but no one’s unbeautiful/what if I run out of fight, do they know my life/or just suspect that I’ve been going about it all wrong/my heart is a knife turning like, Jesus, what the fuck, inside me/and it’s like if I turn deep enough…/there’s better places to be/as if any other place could be if I didn’t wait for it/I tell myself I’m somewhere else/& it’s not like it’s happening to me

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