am drunk
and trying very hard to move in a way that
doesn't remind you of my mom's cancerbald head
or
the dark red blood welling up in my cuticles from where I bit them off
or
the stupid i-know-i-shouldn't
upwell of guilt from (again) (always)
feeling like there was more (or less)
i should have done
and the
i should not have pushed you away but how was i to know
you wouldn't follow
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