Untitled

Death by
a thousand papercuts,
the careless finality of words
where gestures would be far more appreciated,
even if futile.
Do you have any idea what it feels like
to be thrown away so easily,
unnoticed,
without mattering?
You’re a throwaway line,
thought of in the moment
and then discarded,
lost
not even to dreams,
lost
and never found,
lost
and lost and

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