3 & 9

Sidewalk dweller dreaming up several floating devices while simultaneously beating himself up for wanting a better home

Strangers walk by, conversations with some while night reminds of destitution in poetry searching diligently for grace touched absolution

Writing on anything words can be seen from, dealt cards, no earphones still tunes play as lines line up all displaying straight faces

Screaming stay with me a while after a mile senses remind bile takes a while breaking through real meanings of a hurt voice

Putting off surface inhabitants labeling shown math work as being needy blatant display for our teacher to instruct, classmates to learn

Try every day only to die every night resurrected in sleep brought to life in a stunning silent fight false analysis provided by bugged code typed

Vessel talk, not, never really here but these graphics are fantastic up until closed casket calling, profanity spit like fire on plastic and always underwhelming after the ego cums

Poor choices spilling dirty water whenever our godly white robes are fresh from the dryer of experience and so another cycle calls

+

Three and nine, usual time it hits us. Alert or unaware, these days proceed without supervision. On our street, we doze mildly dizzy. If spoken to in your sleep, will attention be awake then or shall another pass come?

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