Walking, into the wind again
Blowing, my hair in directions
Exposing my eyes to the
Grey and the cold
The faceless, the nameless
The street dust it swirls on the ground, and its not with a
Concious thought that I keep walking
It's functional, saving me from
Having nothing to do
And I'm sick at the thought
Of the next 13 hours
Drawing closer to distances further from you.
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