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"Count backwards from 100"


But when am I supposed to stop?

At negative three thousand, four hundred and seven?

I'm still awake.

I could sprint hexagons around the city

But then maybe my feet would blister, And I wouldn't want you to cry

over spilt blood.

So I'll close my eyes

And let the operation begin.

You can't slice anywhere my dreams

haven't

reached.

#poetry

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