September 9, 2009
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After time grinds my memory into fine airy sand
After all of the people become eyeless shadows
And after the sounds become a muted hum
I can still smell the air
Bitter, raw earth and sawdust
Man-made and unapologetic
The kind of smell no one will ever press into plastic gel
And sell for $10.99
A smell no one plugs into their wall
To consume the room with syrup-sweet nature,
Flowers no longer smell real to me.
I walk outside and taste the burning black
Smoke of life and humanity
Somehow feels more real
Than the cardboard daisies
Growing in the sidewalk cracks.

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maRAWR This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
May 30, 2010 at 8:24 pm
humanity is quite the mind-blower, eh?
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