Dager Thinks Too Much

I am often bored, occasionally clever, and rarely amazed, I don't like to share and I love cigarettes. I am Sara and I could've sworn I was right side up.

Leak saltwater tragedy onto my heaving heart wrenched chest, listen to broken beats and tortured lungs for whistered swears that this to shall refuse to pass, “this will only hurt for a second” is slander to his sad name. My talking bird weeps on days that end in “why me?” With a mouth full of envy dilligently directed at those less fortunate who speak pleasant peasant confessions to clerical clergymen. I’ve yet to meet another ostritch who can compartmentalize so full of wonder.

This is mine, I worry I am turning into Jim, I may need to be slapped soon.

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