And your words sing a rhyme,
of a simplilar time,
When we would ride through the trees,
and into the sea.
A song in the back of my mind,
plays itself like its a crime,
a symphony of criminals and angels.
The lights flash a multi-colored siren of tyranny and shame.
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1 comment:
It's like memories are both criminal and angelic.. guilt flows through one's heart for ever remembering, but guilt devours ones heart for ever forgetting.
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