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i've been driving off cliffs in my dreams and staying to the lanes by day. i'm turning down one-ways and running stoplights, but i'm okay. i'm driving drunkenly, self-medicated. i'm masking pain behind ounces till all memories are obliterated, but i'm fine, i'm fine, i'm fine.

guess i'll just fall asleep to the sound of my own breathing again.

to think myself to sleep's not where i'd like to be, but it's where i am.

it's the repetitiveness.
i'm a smoke stack. i'm a pot boiling over, and i'm going to explode. i'm a breaking back, i'm falling apart wishing i was either far or close (or neither).

guess i'll just fall asleep to the sound of my own breathing again.

to think myself to sleep's not where i'd like to be, but it's where i am.

i'm a smoke stack. i'm a steel mill shutting down. i'm a river, poisoned by everything i swallow. i'm too close to fall, too high to see the road end, i'm a product of full bucket promises left empty in the end.

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This is an Experiment Evanston, Illinois

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