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Aug 2012
In my foolish rush to be,
I passed everything by,
I took chance upon chance,
Scheming for the next big thing.
The next big push,
As I let them all slip away,
One by one.
Through my gambler's hands.
I knocked all of it down,
Expectations, ambitions,
Searching for fulfillment,
Of the false prophecy,
Of emptiness.
Whittled into an old fool,
Upon his knees,
As a broken dog,
Feeding on the scraps of cast off love affairs.
Deserving of no more than this.
The standing dead tree,
Too rotten to harvest,
A waste of space.
Casper DM
Written by
Casper DM
   Quentin Briscoe
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