It’s fine, fucking take it.
I’ve been needing a new one, anyways.
I pulled this one out of the trash two years back,
Smoothed out the pages the best that I could.
It’s still pretty creased, still stained,
But with that satisfying scent of old paper and ink,
And a new author’s note in the foreword.
It’s been a good run at the typewriter, but
I don’t need this one anymore. It’s a shadow.
Maybe you could shed some light,
Or maybe I’d like you to burn it.
Could you, please?
Set me on fire from the inside, out.
Be a heart-thief and an arson.
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