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Aug 2014
The day moves on slowly.Β 
Minutes pass with the tick of that old clock hanging from the wall.
Every time that tick erupts,
I realize my thoughts have slipped away, again.
I cannot remember where my mind was just five ticks ago.
Probably something depressing, I would remember a joy filled minute.
I cannot remember why I decided to forgive everyone.
However, I must of had a reason.
But, most importantly,Β 
I cannot remember how this poem is meant to end.
Drake Taylor
Written by
Drake Taylor  Mississippi
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