I already feel your return
it whispers and is left behind,
encoded into your wake:
This parabolic slice that hums and fades
and rises and a ! sigh before drifting deep into its own away.
All return, we all turn, turn again and
our returns every one predicted by the arc of our departure.
I can already see.
Black eyes that pop and glimmer and...
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fuck those haters.
and drugs have a funny way of complicating more than the road.
but they taste so good and feel so right!
how can this be bad for me?