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Lost Ghosts
I try to not let my mind travel far
I sit alone with the emptiness
Think of that summer and Cipralex
I fall asleep at the end of the hour
I lay on the bed
such motionless existence
My throat knotted
My organs donated
I think about you dying
in the middle of the night
I dream of fatal silence
Birds chirping
Good Love
movements
Do not convince me this is good
Beautiful people I murder
the show
And make it good for you
You talk about loneliness
I tell you it makes me feel less whole
I call the numbers on my phone
These ghosts rarely pick up
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