the pendulum swings but makes no sound
there is just motion, reverberating throughout the halls
a junk emporium for the masses
stacked high to give false meanings of importance
where there's flame, there's bugs
and their aching stature makes a strong man cringe
this ashtray is my own
caked in disgust from the judgmental fireflies
flames on the precipice of my kingdom
or have I simply deemed it into reflection?
no longer there, never been
it simply holds remains of things once ignited
cigarette butts stand like toy soldiers
crushed frames bending to the cold, concrete ground
warring senselessly over words
the more they speak, the more their children perish
just vessels of broken down highways
everything is nowhere it should be
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