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Status: Finished  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic
Living in a house that my mom left me in while it went up for sale

Submitted: December 12, 2011

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Submitted: December 12, 2011

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I am a moving house. A mouse in control.

A soul in a vehicle, dressed up to show.

You don’t know. Understand, that I can breakdown

Fluids decreased, deceased, a piece of shit, crap, scrap for the yard.

Fodder for the garden divided by a fence, a house. A pot hole.

 We stole this land made glass from sand, and I demand to have more.

I’m not happy with just living, I want, I need, I desire to have a fire that will warm me.

I want windows, but wonder what’s on TV. 

Cable, a fable that gives the term life stability.

What’s around me is what I see. You don’t know me; just your own reality.

Were greedy, needy, a tedious daily routine that plagues and poisons the minds of younger generations.

Were space stations, Pilots lost in divided nations.

Creations by a power unexplained, living for something that will never be obtained. 


© Copyright 2017 Mark Cacciatore. All rights reserved.

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