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It’s late and I’m at a party. I wish I smoked cigarettes so I could get some fresh air without everyone knowing something was going on with me. Uncried tears make my eyes glisten in an unfamiliar lust. In the midst of my aching family unit facades grow weak, I wear happiness like slip ons, and for the first time this cruel false joy has gone rancid. It’s always this time of night when it hits, when its been dark for so long the streets are no longer eerie. I’ve come to attribute my tears to my gnawing loneliness, and it’s then that I realize I’ve been lonely for a long time. The question becomes when am I going to find out who I am? Who am I without the standards you have instilled? I’m conveniently plastered and as I come back inside, sleep is expected. I am so very tired. I dream red. 

-Conley Combs

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