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Too Lazy MAG
It is cold here,
On the floor,
Blank with
Goosebumps on my skin.
A patch of sun is
so close by.
Outside birds
sing “let me in.”
I think of all the things
I've done,
that blank spot
on the wall;
Moving now is
too much work
to bother getting
up at all.
Now sleep hangs
heavy on my
eyes. Soft nothing
draws me in.
This is why I
love weekends:
Lazy's not a sin.
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