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poetry on the run
Friday, January 1, 2010
Portrait of the New Year, Muncie, The New Year, 2010
I existed twenty-four times tonight, maybe more.
There was an excuse on everyone's lips.
I became old immediately.
I died to the sound of dancing humans.
the new year
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what da fug is deathmarch
i dunno, it's a bunch of people who write stuff then read it while breaking other stuff and playing busted instruments, i guess
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Hey. *Wink.* Hey.
a funny thing i just thought of
guys im really hungry
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