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Nov. 10th, 2007 | 06:50 pm

I hear your feet across the cold tile
your mumbles are incoherent goodbye songs that i wrote, myself
years before
where did you come from? i know where you're going
the streets of disneyland melt into the redlight district
pink condom wrappers litter the cobblestone
goodbye songs
is this what you wanted for yourself?
overlooking traffic and voisins together
through the fluid glass of the windowed room
widowed wound
lights patterns
shapes

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