Sent
Dear diary, whom I named MJ,
I’m sorry I haven’t written, I haven’t been okay,
My friends are in sundry merriments
of drunk college men's apartments
Whilst I remain recluse
Forever lethargic and wasting tissues
MJ, my life is so prosaic
I wish you could write back
I miss how we held hands in public
and how we had our own soundtrack
MJ, your heart, and how it beat for me
Since you took the bullet, you became my diary
Sent 11:11 PM
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