Growth and Nighttime.

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the growth of age strains my memory inside out.
figuring the case of my chemical flow,
my mind's dna is a twisted string
and even the people I love can't decode this silly thing.
I use this puzzle as a mirror where I can be free
but my repeated meaning drag me down with tiny weights
the salt hangs in the air like a limb on my body
my tired mind processing images and proverbs.
exercising the game teenage boys play
but just like a mindless television series,
these things don't matter when the night drapes a blanket
picking up reality as a consolation prize,
the meaning becomes intangible,
as I rest my weary eyes.





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