i still remember the long soft days
some have hardened and petrified
carved like a map in the scratches we left
on the floor we have emptied and
i know there's no wisdom to gain from the cut
most times it's just a wound
there is no honor in bleeding it out
there is honestly nothing to prove
i am the hollowness
behind the rusty tumblers of this old lock
you are the faint line of fade
where you used to hang
up on the wall
you could say it in simpler words
you could say so much for object permanance
there is honestly nothing to move
you could talk to me, anyway
i think i am moving
hope i am going anywhere at all
so put all your parables and poise
back on the shelf
pack up that old allegorical noise
keep that shit to yourself
cause i think i am moving
hope i am going anywhere at all
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