after affects

i am trapped in the back end of a tale spin

 

i think of tryvon i just to be in your arms

telling me its ok to be a black man

 

i sent in lust and mistrust of love

not knowing if my presence is missed by you

 

 

i go out to miss out on the tings that remind me of

 

intoxicated in all the places we made memories

trying to for get the presences of such things

 

i miss all the wrong notes when i sing

 

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