Like every day
It's a dusty road
the sky is overcast like
always hope
trickles down your brow
stings your eye you
stand beside
the road dressed
in a gray suit blood
pulses beneath
your knuckles
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When I'm old, I want to be entertained by my memories, not haunted by the vacccuum of routine. My fear is that I'll wake up one day and wonder why I even bothered.
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