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Jan 2018 · 200
Foreign parts
Max Hancocks Jan 2018
It's weird
Because although you sing the words,
You know the day
Probably won't be lovely,
Somewhere in the muddy
Fog of dopamine release,
Spinning in circles
Brought up
Coming down;

This, here, now,
with all of you,
This couldn't possibly
Fade away,
Into dark
Max Hancocks Jan 2018
I went to your grave today,
For the first time I thought I would
Pay my respects
To a box emerged in the clay,
Chance,
Why are things this way?
I got to see today
And despite plans best laid,
With your life you paid
For
An uncommitted sin,
An unatonable error,
The clichés,
They’re lying,
My love for you
Is undying
Jan 2018 · 425
Gloves
Max Hancocks Jan 2018
He wanted peace,
Which came in the form of broken sleep
On Grafton street,
A lullaby sang by chemical imbalance in the brain,
So for that this one time frame,
Things weren't quite the same,
Who is he to blame?
For wanting relief,
A prisoner of the streets,
Moved on by the police,
But the people that walk by,
They'll never miss a beat;
'****** ****, doesn't deserve my coin'
But you'll go then
To your warm home,
Sit on your throne
And you'll still moan,
'They deserve to be alone'
You won't pine,
You'll drown your brain in that nine euro Tesco wine

See you get your relief too,
But with you
It gets to be taxed,
Regulated
And swept under the rug,
So next time you judge,
Have a look within,
You'd be surprised
What you might discover
In the wind

— The End —