Found something I wrote a few years ago,
Its rubbish, but I like the memories it brings up for me, what does it do for you?
Some degree of understanding.
that desperate jokes inner meaning.
The crusty cracked stem of the old book.
Creaking like a door crying to be opened.
to find yet another blank room.
the room is the canvas of life.
I splat a few lines of paint on the walls.
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