Wed, 07/08/2015 - 19:03 -- mb1996

Fix my wasted days, weeks, and months

Fix our rotten peaches and our decadent dreams

Fix the pouring rain; never let drown our parade

Fix the rough back of our forgotten guitar; we played all summer 'til our resonant notes swelled into monotony

Fix the stoic stare in your eyes, our exchanges lively no more

Fix the doors from their shuts and slams; never again let the knob slip from your fingers

Never again, will it though.

We're fixed.

This poem is about: 
Our world


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