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glazed and gone, the ramblings of a lost man |
| 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 |