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Like an old toy, Waiting to be played with again. Collecting dust, Thrown in a ben, Taking up space in my room Only fond memories prevent its doom. But you’re not a toy.
Always Looks Clear Over Here, but really Only I'm Lost
I'm whiskey and sadness poured into a shot-glass Swallowed down for the burn so you can know how long your esophagus is. I am lost loves and hung-out hopes with the sweet notes of rum on your tongue.