moth chewed soul
like swiss cheese
in the caves
in the south of france
brain damaged
from slamming against
the built in roll cage
of another car crash
scar tissue raises
like the mountain ranges
on the face of a globe
in a dusty library
bitterly sad
like lemon rind
grated on the smiling face
of another cookie crumbled
bitter sour yet poetic
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some days it really is like that
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