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After Everything's Over

Everything's quiet, there's snow on the window sill
We stare at each other from across the table
You are still talking, and I am still crying
Tiny little tears
nothing much
nothing real
After Everything's Over

These are long days of plastic, days when our bellies
Are well full with food that we never desired
And though we are blue, and though we are velvet
We haven't been beautiful for quite some time

Read my little satire
My latest rant of
Misanthropic wit

And let me
Read your drivel
Little complaints of the day to day
Little pleasures found in
		small spaces

Boredom sets in
	like a
		      too-familiar scab
And our eyes dart around
This wide gap of apathy
While we
go on
  and on

I've begun to write poems in French
and I hope that if you don't enjoy them
at least you can tell me why I bother
                                      with anything
                                                     at all

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