October 13, 2012
By , Medford, NY
Every day is a new marker,
Every night becomes darker.
Deaths touch, your only stalker,
Gods clutch, your only locker.
Meaning there is one place to store your hopes and dreams,
While the others are torn away by the seams.
So you remember the scenes,
And you remember your screams.
The way they were silent,
But your thrashing was violent.
So you’re filled with remorse,
Because you took the wrong course,
Now you’re left feeling hoarse.
Terrible, because now you are in a no return situation,
So you deal with the scars like an infatuation.
You begin to study each one and its cause,
No one told you to; no applause.
Now you are beginning to regret,
Every scar, every hole, every stretch.
Of what is left of your imagination,
No more room for lies of exaggeration.

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