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Wednesday, January 29, 2014


Open clean,
broken fresh.
Empty pain
seething flesh.
Fairly new,
feeling old.

Living spaces never foster ideas in a fort night that should result in an hour,
and empty places always dial back their influences as the light subsides.
Just as night gives way to day, we find the life that drained away return, never lost.
But sprinting with the time never leads us to wallow in our miseries for now,
yet we sit and we wallow, biding our time as if we have too much to give, lost
in everything is where we stand, not allowing life to lead us to invention.

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