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The English Impatience

I am fading,
by the way,
nice and slowly
every day.

I am drifting
by mistake
to the right
or to the ache.

I am lying
on the floor:
I’m not lying
anymore.

I don’t know
if I should go,
but I’ll stay:
it’s still my show.

I don’t know
if I should stay,
but I’m going,
anyway.

Am I lying?
No, I’m not!
Who am I
to know the plot?!

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