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“Is it so wrong to think there’s more?”
Amy poses the question while idly scratching her veins
Looking for hidden secrets buried behind lies
“You could have the world”
She was once told, but then the strings broke
And were never replaced
When things get old and outdated they crawl under the porch
“Black like a forest”
That’s how she would describe her philosophy
Forgotten, abandoned
Moving her feet, but not really dancing
Studying her red shoes on the promenade
Beneath those dreary ferris wheels
Firecrackers go off in her head
Leaping from street to street
Crashing into the chairs and clowns lining the boulevards
“she wanted to speak like an angel”
But she couldn’t
The angels died, and where hid by farmers and business men
Tiny baby shoes in a field, the field where the plane came down
So innocent,
Leave a note, that says your sorry
“We come into the world alone, and we leave it alone”
Then to crawl under the porch, to be alone


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by Mr Adams





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