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Pretty Things

The ground likes to shift
 
When you are standing still
 
You will swear you never moved.
 
And you will watch the acid drips
 
of time burn through your lips—through
 
your promises—it all seems to melt away
 
When there is not enough time in a day.
 
Throw away the pieces of this
 
world you wanted to see
 
and
 
watch the concrete crack neath your feet
 
Step lightly, lest you fall into the deep end
 
and lose your little kid dreams.
 
The minutes have slipped through the tips of your fingers
 
The echoes of desire lingers—in the quiet spaces
 
between each second—and you wonder how
 
you missed all the pretty things.
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