I'm visiting here. It's not where I live. Most of the time, I am
Cleaning the kitchen, shopping for groceries, sitting outside,
Focused on living a tangible life, not wafting about like a ghost
In your web, watching the others and begging for clicks, shut in

In a sweat suit, pale as an egg, my life without substance, just

Pixels on screens. I am giving you something. It's this. Now I'll

Leave. I quickly grow nauseous here.

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2024-05-15 at 15:45

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alarian The PoetBay support member heart!
we visit foreign monuments as tourists
but we don't come as tourists to visit our family, especially if we live in the same city as them