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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Just a musing of how I had felt at the time, trying to make progress but feeling like I've done nothing more than be destructive to that progress.

Submitted: March 08, 2007

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Submitted: March 08, 2007



Who tosses and turns like I do,
And says they’ve lost their touch?
It’s irrelevant, what fears I fear to feel

And life just wasn’t there for you
Like death wasn’t there for me
Beggars can’t be choosers
And the dead can’t be walking
But yet there they are

And darling,
If it works for you
There must be something wrong
I’ve started one too many fires
Than bridges to be burned

But by definition of a wasteland
The existential clock
Begins to tick
And I haven’t gotten too far
In no time at all

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