What They Say
where is the story?
is it found in the tedium?
is it found in the details of the mundane?
OR
does it come out on those nights
when we gather in packs
at each others homes
drinking the well dry
and burning all the grass of the fields?
some might say
some might say.
those that don't
say nothing
at all.
each day
inches
us closer
to the
future.
it fades into the background like a low level hum so constant it is barely noticed.
love will let you go.
The Boy With The Glass Hands.
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