Orange ice cream, Crime and Punishment,
Every day’s a Dickensian dream–
I can’t wake up from the things I wanted–
I can’t ever bring myself to come clean.
Yesterday I wanted to tell him I found out
What the word calculus actually means–
But where do you start when he doesn’t know
That you had to go but didn’t want to leave?
I wish I could fade into the background,
Impressionistic reflection like The Four Trees
But his sister’s in love with my best friend’s friend,
And I know how he walks, hear his voice in my head–
I had a nightmare he’s dying, that I’m better off dead;
I just want this living postmortem to end.

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