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Jan 2012
white blanketed trees and
iced over telephone poles,
rectangular flashes of color are
boxcars becoming a blur,
a monotone rainbow
smeared across the passenger window
sending subliminal messages that
say do not resuscitate but
you're falling away
with every rung of the railway
falling further behind,
step out onto the platform
tears falling down and
they're mixing with the rain,

no, this isn't home,
this isn't home.
Written by
emily m
1.5k
     Francisco DH
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