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as awful as it may sound
but i'd love to hear him talk
when he was mad drunk.
he'd wail like a psychopath,
laugh like a venom,
get mad about the world
get as vulnerable as a thumb
sucking feeble,
dispel profound thoughts
that would reckon me out of blue.
i would quietly marvel at the
bukowskian in him
while lamenting upon the
futility amidst me.

Smriti