Monday, April 25, 2011

Harvest

The lock is unlocked, broken, in disrepair, broken, I'm turning the key, broken, it's not letting me in, broken, I push and it opens. This place is the same place, but it's new to me, the difference between then and now, it's new to me. I drift through the wreckage, looking for the clues that will save me, I see a mess, and a lie, and a mess, and you live like a slob, drifting through the wreckage. The things I left are gone, replaced by an eerie moss, the walls are cracked, filled in by moss, darkness would yield such horrors as these, but you left the lights on, filled in by moss, you live like a slob. upstairs, the room I left, it's filled with your emptiness, I throw it out on the grass, the emptiness, a clock that is fast, these CDs are not mine and I never asked for this, you said you'd pay, you never did, but you'll pay for this. Closed locks, clenched fists, you'll return, and you'll pay for this. You never did.

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