When I die, I want to decompose in a barrel of porter and have it served in all the pubs in Dublin.
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Friday, February 10, 2012
i've lost myself.
the sun is hot,
but the air is crisp and
cold.
my lungs stinging,
i’ve got no where else
to go.
he said i would resent you, but
that ship sailed years ago.
now, the winter air
intoxicating,
i feel
alone.
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