I am a stranger in a very familiar place right now and it grates on me.
I have lots of promises and nothing kept.
Slow pace no pace going nowhere.
Waiting again and to what end? What's the reward?
Tap tapping on old type writers with no ink.
Dried up tapes.
Flaking.
That's what this feels like, watching you.
blowing up now.
leaving the atmosphere.
dreams are made of this,
this ache searching
going nowhere.
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