I’m still here, at work, not working, comma comma comma.
Here’s a depressing poem about how depressed I am.
I further fall in love,
while you grow weary of it;
the pain is a clicheknife in my tritefuckingheart.
On second glance
the work needs some work. The verse is not there
and some words are made up. Feelings run
true though, because yes, I miss you.