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A Prison Filled With Smoke

 I drew with a pencil that broke in the middle I drew with the shorter half that choked on the riddle I knew it was going to be harder to hide my fiddle I drew on top of a scar that had been ripped open too far I drew the stitches to cover the leakage in rage I made the lead to break I drew dark glasses to hide my eyes from lies that cover my face I drew empty classes where I teach freedom I knew no one would come and take the risk that it encompasses I drew the bucket  that has holes everywhere I drew the station that never sees a train only the pain of everything passing right through the empty tracks I drew a relation that is always in tension what should I say how should I pay what should I do not to stay I drew a blanket to cover my soul I drew a bullet to destroy the ghoul I knew someone will call me out I knew someone will shout I drew a chair where I can sit and think about being fair I drew a floor filled with gravity of good time smoke gathered around me suddenly, I ...

It's The End Of A Nice Old Way

Of getting goose bumps.
It’s the end of a pathway..
Filled with yellow blossoms.
It’s the end of an essence..
That took your breath away.
It’s the end of childishness..
That was swiftly accomplishing.
It’s the end of a surreal surrender.
With little words to squander.
It’s the end of an imaginary effect..
With the magic squared away sooner.
It’s the end of the knock out moments..
Prolific emotions..
Gone with a single poof.

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