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Tell yourself

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I shared the breakdown with the trees
I sold it to the sky
Vultures glide upon it
its not a free ride
They perch on dead trees 
raise their wings
Hoping the sun will kill its bile
But its a cyclic thing
It fades like denim
Rots like wood
It gets

better

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About wherearetheheros

just someone my mother might know

2 responses »

  1. Good . . .really well placed words. And . . .I’m so glad it gets better. 🙂

    Reply

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