at the thought of school letting out.
I hover above the parking lot, gazing down at the ocean of black burning, and the orange lines.
over and over
i finally realize it
there is a choreographed ritual to it
its like one of those toys in the 80;s
yeah, its called a spirograph,
and again the dance ensues
in and out , in and out
until it produces an image
that image is
desperation
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