Of a Shipwrecked Town

January 20, 2009
By Anonymous

I sit in the back, I always do.
I clutch the seatbelt that smells of plastic.
I hear the voices that speak of nothing.
The old routine.
I look out the window that pass my town,
The town I’ll never see again.
Memories worth seven silver suns
And a thousand crystalline stars
Memories that fall like paper angels of snow
Memories that float like pillow puffs of smoke
-- All gone.
There won't ever be the same golden summers
Of strawberry skies.
Of the salty taste of the nearby beach
Have stolen haircuts and homemade perfumes
Of freckles that came in colors of caramel.
I look out the window that pass my town
And there sherbet sunsets that blaze too velvet
Trail behind like crumbs off cookies.
I look down at shoes stained in mud
And dare not look back, at the forgotten memories
Of a shipwrecked town.

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