conjob
look blue.
stress spreads in the air,
i am not unglued.
actually truth is that i am stuck,
fuck.
but look at you,
waving back
from hell.
my words seem severe,
but you dodge them out.
back to when things where clear,
we go as driving back.
i wish to open up fast,
and say what's on my mind.
but you find
it ain't vast.
and i get behind.
past is a blast on my weary mind.
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