I’m going nowhere being different like everyone else. My stomach’s gone, there’s nothing but a circle punched out through my gut so I’ll sit down a second while I die. I take my weight off my fucked up knee and I shout what is wrong with me, but in my head so only I can hear. And my self loathing answers me - it says, “Your 2d geometry is twisted like a torus in New York.” And I’ll probably go back soon, back to the cloying comfort of my room. Because what else do I know? Fuck it, I’ll see you back home.
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