Lost Writes (2003)

I am made up of time.

Of infinite shrines

With mazes abound.

None likely profound.

The corridors chime

All with the same sound.

All places considered

This one is just bitter

Enough to control.

To capture and hold.

A mind full of glitter

So shineless and old.

I am leaving tomorrow

Right after I borrow

A couple of lies.

A piece of the sky

To take with my sorrow

And see the sun rise.

Or will I play sore

Like now and before?

Unpack my things

And commence to sing

While on the same floor.

I’ve not moved an inch.

I abhor... abhor...

This mental glitch...

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