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i used to think keeping emotions bottled up was just a cliche
but every night i found myself taking a sip
my drunken romantic thoughts toxicate my brain
the blinking blue light fom the VCR casts my shadow on the wall
but your omnibenevolent image blocks my notice
your voice comes only as an echo in my ears
the buzz of the fan fades deeper into subconscienceness
but it emerges with a blink of my weathered eyes
i won't dare to think of what will happen to me when the bottle is empty

and like all ameature writers i must say
yeah, it probably sucks.



cas it probably does