::: Nothing good in December :::

What good is this? life-
like .artificial. breathing.
my handwriting. my face
my words;
all matriarchal copies of themselves...

sunlight waves on my monotony
I realize that I am
f*cked.
in more ways than one.

meaningless clichés aside,
this is the worst part
so far.
sigh. trudge. tomorrow might be
okay.

Written by: ~ mallory

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