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I read a poem to my dad. He said he didn't understand. And it was too long. I didn't understand that. He doesn't know big words. He asks me the meaning. Of that one word. I know the word.
Riding in trees, Falling off treatise, Gendering yearning souls, Trying the caste of cells, Postering high miracles,
I don't know... I can't shake the preening feeling... That I'm not really living... And even though it's not a physical pain- It's a dull persisting ache- And even though no one else is living