eyes carrying baggage
over the weight limit
from spring's first pollen,
last night's dreams
of eating ravioli
in the room where i
spent four years singing,
never enough sleep,
trying to see something
better than this,
but blind;
half mooned,
heavy lidded,
and tired.
today was really awful, and thusly today's poem is also really awful. you'll all live, i promise.
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