eighty-one.

8 1 2
                                    

𝒂𝒕𝒍𝒂𝒔

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people are living
and dying
and i'm in the kitchen
stirring a pot of noodles
sometimes i wonder
if i'm carrying
the entire weight of existence
on my shoulders
my own personal atlas
where all their lives
crash into mine
i carry it all alone

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