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Nolan Bucsis
Poems
Oct 2017
You get old
Eventually the mystique.
Of not working.
Wears off.
Pointless conversations with cray people.
Who are usually high and looking.
For a way to **** or rob you.
Get old.
One day you wake up from that rebellious.
Romantic.
Utopia.
Of good times.
And, you're missing your teeth.
Nothing in common with.
People you used to be.
Written by
Nolan Bucsis
34/M/Somewhere in Canada
(34/M/Somewhere in Canada)
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