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.Central Processing UnitMother, I think my lungs are beginning.Central Processing Unit
to grow on one another because I'm always
hunching before the pulsating light of this screen.
Mother, I fear I am wasting my life away,
plucking at a plastic keyboard.
Mother, dear mother, when I reached for the off switch I could've sworn it asked me whether or not it was turning me on, but I've imploded too many brain cells to know for certain.
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come here

sometimes i thinki was that first stirring you felt.sometimes i think
i was that jealous anger that was waiting in your stomach.
i was feeling this too.
i was a set of eyelashes upon a set of yours.
i was at the sideline in the horizontal rain.
i was two feet hanging out the car door.
i was the hand on your back as you heaved out of my window.
i was the never ending apology.
i was the body beneath the blanket, the eyes full of watery anxiety, the fist clinging to your red t shirt.
i was the girl in your room, stroking the cat with clammy palms as i waited.
i was the lack of skill and you were the teacher. &


bottled boats.you said, "time is too precious a thing to waste, but be careful not to let it hurt you." so i took an hourglass and cracked it down the side, let the grains of sand trickle onto my pillow, and laid down to sleep, to lock time away in my dreams. that way, no time could be wasted, and it would all be safe around me. "but no," you said, shaking your head with sad, blank eyes. "dreams are as imprisoning as water. and water holds nothing but the fish." so i stuck my head into the snow until my nose bled with cold, hoping to freeze time in it's essence. i would have stayed there until the fish in my brain stopped swimming, but yobottled boats.
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Hello Pot, meet Kettle.
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