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it's what i use to be
a long time ago when
all things still had a chance
and thoughts of greater lands
were visible on the horizan
where the nights licked the days away
in a place of no returns

to a love
of madness and insecurities
yet fitting and all the same
of what remains still written
inside old books collecting dust
where nothing is to blame
but innocence of lust

its what made sense
so many lives ago
where poverty looked pretty
and hungar painted youth
across the lines of hands
erupting wine for the many few
waiting to still get there

tonight it all falls into place
like the last piece in a puzzle
and i remember how i got here
before the bottles wash it away
as another day changes its answers again
and my mirror stays out to lunch

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