11:01 a.m. - 2018-12-13
I wonder if you care for me more than just killing time. Filling in the holes with dirt to cover the dead, the former love buried. Dirty dirt, secret dirt, dark dirt, wallflower dirt. Dirt so plain you will forget it in time and you mean to. Dirt to stomp down and walk on, not to plant flowers. Pathway dirt, the dirt that will lead you away to greener pastures, but not here where I am. Back to the ghost of her, where the grass is white and the water is frozen, where you can roll around in your music like a pig in mud.
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