they're texting each other
i can't help it
bundled within the group;
get out of the way
so i can see my game,
i gesture him to move.
my apologies
says he, our mr. nice guy.
frozen cold lest an emotion may show,
i watch them amongst the others;
still the interloper,
nuances and their gestures,
what intrigue staring at my screen
for their sympathy.
my tv's the only thing what understands
the extent
- the fixture on our couch
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