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Moth balls

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Pills of sweet flannel whisper secrets as they roll off the fingertips;
Carrying away love and memories and pieces of soul with their abandonment.
There is suffocating submersion at being wrapped in sleeves of greed
And one sided hugs of good intention. Nostalgia smells like old books
And stolen adventures; yellowing buttons glint winks from their judgment line.
Faded squares checkerboard the paved road of yesterday years; the stubborn, itchy tag
Labels the unforgettable past. Messy stitches sew together odd n’ end
Pieces n’ patches that tell the fairytales not ending “happily ever after”.
Seams tell stories.
Tears tell tales.
And worn material knows a person better than they know themselves.





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