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Dead Microphone

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Rose and Gray

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Trotsky

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Here I stand
More or less intact
Sunshine on my back
In fact, I'm fine
I'm getting by
One reassurance at a time

I would write myself
A battle hymn
And sing the words
Day in, day out
But self-talk
Has a self-defeating way
Of burning out
And seeding doubt

I stare down my demons
But they don't tend to flinch

The guilt, the insecurity
And all this fucking baggage
If there's one thing that I've learned
It's that this shit is made of plastic:
Throw it all away
But it will stay right where it lays
It takes so much longer
Than a lifetime to decay
It's in the way

In the ocean of the mind
It flows into a garbage reef
Soda cans and grocery bags
A monument to grief

An image of the struggle
To move on; it would resemble
The visage of an old dog's foggy eyes
 

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