A Crime, A Crime.

all these faces, all i’ve met
all these places all repeat
and when the covers creep,
the streets all line with age old dreams.
comfort in the conscience
of the same old caustic themes.
a crime it seems to streak ahead.

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This entry was posted in anonymous, create, creative, creative writing, dream, dreamer, exposed, restless, retrospect, rhythm, rogue, torn, truth and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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