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My room is redder than red with cheap strings of lights filling the room with thinned blood, a heavy ether that is only strengthened in contrast by the blinding white emptiness of Microsoft Word staring up from my lap, and when I gaze away from it, I pick out flyers and cheap guitars and a shelf full of things all vying for contrast in that red haze. And when I finally go to bed in the next room, I can see the blue of the coffee pot light like the pupil of a red eye and then everything goes black.
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