"The room" (not "my room") is empty.
So am I.

Packing all I have into suitcases after suitcases
Throwing myself into life after life
sometimes I wonder if I am addicted to moving
so I can leave all the ugly, bad, and immoral behind
as if I can regain the purity of my mind and have a new life

I'm tired of moving
but I keep moving
like having obsessive-compulsive disorder
trying to get a hold of something
in the empty room
in the empty dark night
in the empty me


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