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Mar 2011
The man was not a man,
but a listener of music;

the melodies told him when to sleep,
the angst gave him his anger,
the happiness blessed him with love,

the guitar beat gave him movement,
the lyrics were his thoughts,
and the end of the song
was the only closure
in a world

where music
was the only thing
that made any **** sense.
decompoetry
Written by
decompoetry
489
   Katie Elzinga
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