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The Catacombs

She's last year's model. Scouring the sewers now For a temporary replacement How the times go fast. This time, every time, nothing Seemed to go right always - Always some marginal error That grows magically in magnitude Dare not speak of tragedies Hidden well by silence and Plastic drapery strategically hung To hide how we really felt Left unattended those veins And arteries that once Sweet Dopamine and Oxytocin flowed Congeal, clog, atrophy and collapse Shedding a carcass of love Full of bittersweet memories Exposed to the elements within To be plastered over by time
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Written by
allan-e-bartlett
American
Published
Jan 2, 2012
Lines·Words
24·95
Notes

2010

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