Papers Of Raw Material

Subconscious paper?

You still don’t understand?

I write raw thoughts here then later inside expand.

Worried about my scrap sheet.

Worried about my work even if the answer is right.

She whispers, goddamn him.

I whisper, goddamn her.

Until I figured out what my window looks like, snowglobe of emotion.

Saved by my paper, saved by journal.

Saved by my mediocre poetic poetry, saved by literary mind sex release.

What are you thinking about after reading this?

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