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Mar 8
These nowhere towns,
Mountain tops snow-capped long through march,
Everywhere else,
A barren brown.

Though people live here,
And they aren't broken down.

The paint peels from the motel,
The mother tends to her daze,
The attendant ponders the insects of the sill,
Tumbleweed **** these acts of being still.

Life is good here,
In these hazy,
Background,
Nowhere towns.
Really hope I captured that picture I saw... I don't think I fully did but... It was almost there...
EphemeralLikeGold
Written by
EphemeralLikeGold  23/M
(23/M)   
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