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Lured under the garbage island
so entangled in fishing line
so full of convenience plastic
no matter how I snap
it doesn’t come out.
I can’t pull this off. How
embarrassing to meet anyone
on a beach, under the moon.
Even in softest light, dead
of the night, please know: I told no lies.
I promise I’m soft
though I look so hard.
It’s so hard, without a filter.
This is real
life. My eyes plead
ghost-lonely.
All these lines
in my neck,
terms of my survival.
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