Pseudopsychosis.

Braver, we are not
when words flash, draw our hurt
I need to be alone
I was never ever reasonable
not on a Tuesday
or any day with a why in it
I reach for my bottle of amber glory
wish that I still smoked
Turn to my sounds with no words
watch those black birds out on the wire
wait for this thunder to be over.

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For further work, visit edenbray progressive poetry.

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