hotel rooms make me sick, i'm naseous i've been breathing clearer flying above the ocean landing in foreign and i'm like in slow motion calling you's been making me exhausted
like i'm in silence, but i'm talking like i'm awake but there's a nightmare watching like there's a void in the ground i'm walking
ghosts in my head, i'm so haunted by them it's so loud, all their seemingless calling that i'll forget all the views of the mountains
because, what if the plain crashes? what if this is the last poem standing? we'd be growing apart by death because if all that holds us back is fears how are we important to the gods in heaven? and what are they worth, all these years? i seem to spend them with a whole lot of nothing
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