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Social prison, aren't we lucky in this grime?
Being this fine means doing time.
This isn’t for show.
Another simulation, another stimulation.
Who am I performing for?
Or will we have to be okay with what we little we have?
The blandness of life.
It’s that time of year again.
Why do you keep hurting me like this?
You jpegs hurt me.
A digital prison.
Whatever it takes to navigate this moment.
Breathing life on the embers of my hopeless heart.
Too much trauma to make this worth it.
Is this supposed to feel good?
Pain & pleasure.
Can’t keep my footing.
Only for now.