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"Cranston" by chrome arctic

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We spent nights in graveyards
Looking for stones that held are names
She pissed in bushes
I on trees
This was the escape from television
The exile from audio

Numbness
On whatever chemical
Blindness
On the world and it’s demands

3 in the morning by neon lights
Buildings she wished were home
Exposing music to ourselves
I thought I knew
The radio began to break up
The sky was our pavement

Worn youth
Too tired than time allowed
Free from our shells
Fast quick takes it’s toll

Bonds like gold, eyes like skies
It flew away like the cosmos
One day it was cut off
No proper “Goodbyes”
Columbus Square onto Thayer
Smooth the jagged edges again

Drove the ocean state
Past where we used to live
Bold and ignorant, dumb and brave
Close to new memories
The rain was warm in September
Like the sky spelling her name
Too young to feel anything afraid
I’ll never see you again

Miranda the moon
I keep these times close
So near it opens my skin
On less than perfect days

There’s no escaping this
The reoccurring theme
There’s no return to shelter
No revival in Cranston



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If you [Log In] as a member you can discuss this work with others

On Tuesday September 23rd, 2008, Nill (165) writes:
Your stuff reminds me of an old friend. An old time. And an evil recognition. Life continues and this all dies....shame....good write.


On Friday September 5th, 2008, Ainsof (1865) writes:
ah yes.. I remember spending nights in the graveyard... becoming numb, pissing on tombstones (or trees), but we tried to take tunes with us. excellent summer nights... grand memories, true times. Thanks for the trip.



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Printed from www.DarkPoetry.com/dp/16799/112970 on Thursday December 04th, 2008 06:03 PM

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