Don't talk much
Distance is like a wall of static
Some days it is like swimming through wet cement
Sweating through shirt and tie out in summer sun
South Central Pennsylvania your air has traces of my past
My present
My future
It lingers in my lungs
Returns part of me to the atmosphere
I swear some nights I wake in a cold sweat thinking it is still 2009
My sense of time and self is all screwy these days
Have I mentioned I fucking hate auto correct
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