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Patches
April 17, 2011
I walked alone, down a damaged street
People against the walls, who you don’t want to meet.
Then in middle of the alley I realized,
I was just like them, beaten and terrorized.
They told me the stories,
Of their lives.
Of their quarries,
And all the spread lies.
Then came along a man with scratches,
I examined him closely,
He lit up some matches.
But he said that he was using smoke and fire to cover the wounds and use as patches.
© Anonymous
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