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Woke up on the cold side of the bed again. Lit my cigarette by the wrong end. With decisions to weigh and debts to pay, I dance better by myself. Abandoned paved streets shadowed by bright city lights; a motionless breeze gives flight to broken kites. The man in the hammock dangling by a string stays aloft in his solitude. In the trivial pursuit of a worthwhile endeavor a life neatly filed away is run through a shredder. Spoonfed as a child then left all alone; jilted like a bad penny. Seeing through a prism of a dull grey shade. Bewildered at the ease of a one-sided trade. She built you a throne made of leather and silk; a throne made with only three legs.
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Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 12:18 AM UTC
Last Flight of a Wingless Bird
Woke up on the cold side of the bed again. Lit my cigarette by the wrong end. With decisions to weigh and debts to pay, I dance better by myself. Abandoned paved streets shadowed by bright city lights; a motionless breeze gives flight to broken kites. The man in the hammock dangling by a string stays aloft in his solitude. In the trivial pursuit of a worthwhile endeavor a life neatly filed away is run through a shredder. Spoonfed as a child then left all alone; jilted like a bad penny. Seeing through a prism of a dull grey shade. Bewildered at the ease of a one-sided trade. She built you a throne made of leather and silk; a throne made with only three legs.
ronald-d-lanor
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Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 12:18 AM UTC
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