Posts
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Memories
Why must memories never last?Are they nothing but the past?
Or maybe they are just there to graspGrasp for the moment not the hour
Until they stack like a tower
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I’m from
I am from the cold conditions
The conditions you can’t feel your hands where the wind whistles and wipes
I am from the rocking sea witch provides comfort when need be
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The attic
The attic always talks almost like it walks,
The sound echoes over and over always getting bolder
The attic's always right, time to think twice, for when you do you feel blue
Loves
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New American Elegy
Long live the dead we prop ourselves up on,
The cane we pass off as our leg.
Long live the gods that money trickles down from,
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The attic
The attic always talks almost like it walks,
The sound echoes over and over always getting bolder
The attic's always right, time to think twice, for when you do you feel blue