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michael Jun 22
Around time scarred columns,
Sun bleached waves swell.
No songs or poems
Can say
What these weathered walls tell.
nn Aug 2016
i stand here with a hole in my chest. someone unearthed the key and dug up all the rest, their grimy hands
scratching and scraping into the dark. Unsure of what they'll find, but they wouldn't mind
leaving the tomb with a few
antiques,
maybe one or two.

i wish they bagged my soul with them.
it's rusting itself blue.
the cruel irony of preaching love & kindness when it will never happen to you
Francie Lynch Mar 2015
If my skillet's unearthed
Some long time on
By somethings human,
They'd need a rune
To reveal the smells
Of Sunday breakfast,
The sizzles and grizzles
Of that relic.
It won't explain
What's to blame,
From first fire,
To my frying pan.
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