beautiful sunrise eyes
not yours, but the way mine light up
sometimes
when i use the nothing i have
to
waste the sunlight
because then there is a slight hope
that people's wardrobes
are composed of nuns robes.
cynicism is my identity
and equally my facade
speaking is a commodity
because all that is needed
are finger paintings of Rosacea
to get across any type of real meaning
the uselessness of rest
because i never ever sleep
i never ever sleep
i never ever sleep
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