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Poem By Maybe Brady

The sun rises over you
And you wake to listen to yourself
You try magnifying your arrival
Your elements are as dull as walls

I shall not listen
To you counting your gold stars
You consider yourself a god
Of the blue sky above us

You echo your voices
And they are littered into my ear
I do not listen to you
Create such a ruin

You are married to your mirror
And you try to create a statue to reflect yourself
The statue you create
Is as flat as your shadow

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