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520 · Aug 2018
Foam
Forsyte Aug 2018
On the day I first met my diploma
We did not know what to say but I swear
The moment I reached to steal my small prize
A faint salty breeze stood quiet in the air

Restless feet find the shore and pause for moments
The stubborn clamor behind me will rest
Despite crude plans tacked on imploding walls
Instinct takes command, my body turns west

Soothing cries from below hurl their last pleas
My legs march desperately through the waves
There is no escape for those who don't charge
Away from the pleasures they've known as slaves

What was before only spoken by loved ones
Sits in bold against the pale white paper
A voice in a bubble floats toward my ears
With a language unkown it screams not to waver

— The End —