talk to in your sleep ties your hands and your feet
and you wake up like a pig awaiting slaughter.
These same people you know, they know more than I do.
They can show you your unborn daughter.
You see her face every night and every day is a struggle, staring hard at faces around you.
Trying to put shit together, does she have the nose or the eyes
of the girl two people ahead of you in line.
I wrote this and I fucking hate it. I'm going to post it anyway.
What a strange night.
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I love to talk.