orgami's Diaryland Diary

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come around

buried sometimes
the landscape falling
along

rivers of junctions
gathered like dull ribbons
like feilds culled with
tired sunlight

the hands falling on my
shoulders like wind gusts
like beating wings
climbing for the higher
curse

keep seeing you again and
again old freind
this old magic our trust

got to stop meeting like
this
all the mote talk

you dont exist
no one believes
the hell we grieve
but keep the smile
Its on me

11:30 p.m. - 2012-02-20

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