Eyes

give me your daisies, they're a symbol of your love which i have been coveting. Familiarity has been foreign in my face and it's getting weary. Other than feeling lost, I tire of looking at people in the eye. November was loud, an explosion of fireworks; some sort of color spill; unlike a pinata a balloon burst probably more appropriate; would have liked to get a great yell out of my lungs. To a quiet December, cheers.

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