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Oct 2015
Your new side was fake
And covered in all the rust you need
To start a war.

There were springs sticking out
From holes in the mattress
The night you told me
I was void of form.

It must haunt you now
To think that I'm such a good abstraction.


My dear,
I'd prefer to sing alone.

To think of you washed
In all the colors falling
Like Whistler's Rocket
So far below the moon...

I cry away any sanctity
Placed upon me in my youth.

When I am stricken
With all the words
Uttered over the silence
Of our modern, beautiful

I will fall silent.

I will fall still.

I will be quiet,
But I will be swift,
And I will be void of mercy
To all but myself.
Trevor Blevins
Written by
Trevor Blevins  Kentucky
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