People seem to think
That i'm an urban myth
I set up shop, take a shot
And disappear into the mist
The ties I make along the way
Are perforated at my heart
And when I feel a tug at them
The quickly fall apart
It's a lonely life
But better than a broken home
When I see the wreck it leaves
I know I'm better when i'm alone.
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1 poem a day 7 days a week 52 weeks a year
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