be friends and even dress up for the both of us
whatever cloth unknotted and knotted from irresistible woman
last night was another night where I calmly sat spinning
In the comfort of your home, with its wooden floors
and quarreling idiosyncrasies
mine too, quarreling, I am in the arms of my lovers and bereaved
inside my chest, a mire, my mind a reckless fictitious confabulation
Jaunts on the phone today, I also feel the summer weighted with solitude
Even though I am busy with them
(Adrian Orange) - “Its not that I don’t want no friends, but just that I am really alone anyway until the end”
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