| Displacement, the basement, isolation cemented,
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| Relented, six stairs down.
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| Naked bulb, tired lungs, tired eyes, crooked thumbs
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| Not up but sideways for now.
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| The rise and fall and gentle drops,
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| Precipitation never stops.
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| I pulled the clouds inside me and now it’s raining again.
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| Cried in my sleep last night for the first time.
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| Dying while I live, living where we die.
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| Futility abounds six feet deep within the coffee grounds.
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| These ashtrays are volcanoes now.
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| Apartments burn in red and brown.
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| Salt the earth and never grow.
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| Notice ashes look like snow.
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| Falling and just sitting there.
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| More trash than the county fair.
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| The smell of crowds, a burning nose,
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| A smell familiarly morose.
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| Half-assed attempt only to fail,
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| Half-assed reflection ghostly pale,
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| You’re waving while I disappear —
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| Ashes cementing my fear… |