I'm terrified of telephones and shopping malls and knives,
and drowning in the pools of other lives.
Rely a bit to heavily on alcohol and irony, get clobbered on by courtesy.
In love with love and lousy poetry.
I'm leaning on this broken fence between past and present tense,
I'm losing all of those stupid games that I swore I'd never play.
But it almost feels okay.
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