Wonder if they're all the same, wait too long, it's gone
It starts to hurt
“Time” is ambiguous. You mark it every day, and you are aware of its structure.
Wearing my night shirt
Am I dumb yet?
Situating science in (the) soul; you're wrong, I'm not right(eous)
It starts to hurt a lot
It isn't about what makes you happy and feel no shame
Narrowing down expended days I failed to grasp
A new day (easily begun)
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