“The bombastic sense of things”
You, with your words
always prying
digging deeper with a simple smile and a question.
No never worked for you,
unless followed by an exasperation
You always tried to mold your reality
to fit the dreams you had
so high, floating up on the clouds
Then you speak some sort of crime,
honesty, morality, decency.
Ears, closed to all,
like a snail hiding in its shell.
I'll recall the wintery days,
the sun would come up,
So would you,
And we'd walk
But that was time ago.
the wrong side of a one way road,
which at the moment,
does not involve oaks, pines, and trees
Nor the dying memory of a life,
different completely, from me
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