Paranoid

Superstitious, unreasonable, unsure of yourself. Your jabbing arms, those uncertain eyes, ultimately gauche, but always a good friend, almost to the end. Lying in a gutter, red trickling over me, and you, unsure of yourself, believed it might be a hallucination, a bad trip. You did not call for help.

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About hereisthemoment

I write. Sometimes I don't.

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