Jan. 11

It’s a diary, smiling at the realization
Communication compelled to truth
Who else does that and why dye in
Lasers back and forth while it cries
Because it couldn’t make itself stop
Or hide it under a mattress, locked
Little silver key in hand on chin, what
If, that smiles too, but, you’d have to
Remember the words, verses stared
Into, it would be so cool, Jan… when
Ever, never write thoughts unspoken

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