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Jan 2012
this is us,

sitting in the dusty corners,
sifting through the genres,
avid and voracious readers of
lugubrious paper-backs which
narrate the plots of self-pity and regret.

this is us,

losing our sense of time in there,
like undergrounds creatures fascinated
with the scent and sight of ground,
ignoring the less conspicuous collection
of sanguine and rhythmic biographies.

we are stubborn readers in the library of memories
reading the wrong genres over and over...
We always enter the library of memories, and stick to the particular genre that brings us pain. Sad stories sell faster than happier ones.
SH
Written by
SH
941
 
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