places in this fake empire it feels
as though others can will things into
compliance; fruition; oblivion; while
meanwhile i just float through. the tides
that don't bind gently push and pull,
making suggestions that i cannot
distinguish, cannot decide between.
the littlest things matter the most;
shall i listen to the shins or perhaps
the arcade fire, which will aid my will in
finally being listened to? will the string
finally be plucked in midair?
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