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what is tomorrow.

when is tomorrow.

i’m ready for a sunrise.

i could break every stick in our yard and still wouldn’t feel better.

it just reminds me of how dry and brittle it all is.

i could burn it all.

what is this and where is my tree when i need it.

abandon ship,

raising my white flag,

i surrender.

white flags and broken sticks.

new breaths help but they hurt.

what am i doing.

i feel so thrown and i hate it.

thanks, heidegger.