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Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Biographical · #1489318
Sometimes I look at old pieces like this and wonder if I have ever grown.
Empty pizza boxes
scattered around,
cigarette packs and
crushed beer cans
on the floor.
Holes in my new boots.
Bits of my life
scattered around.
I'm coming apart
at the seams.

Before you left,
crying in the night,
there was order,
everything had a place,
fit so right.
Now I sit here,
all alone
in my tattered life.
Jumbled bits of the past
keep coming back.

Persistent pain.
Bits of my life
scattered about.
I'm coming apart
at the seams.
Trash strewn
around the room
holes in it all...
Like my new boots.
Like my old dreams...
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