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Sunday, February 21, 2010

(1460)

What's left in these tiny states but the interstate out to somewhere new?
Memories floating in every landscape
Each molecule holding the bitterness
No doors will open but the ones with exits signs glowing above.
No windows to sneak into on late nights.
But out there
Past the doors with no door knobs on our sides
That is where we will escape to a place where the sun only ever rises.

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