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Ghostown

Always on your case… Your pieces are worth…

On a writer note

Everyone I know is gone,
Even the ghosts don’t howl anymore.
The graffiti falls off the walls
And the wind pushes the litter along the pavement
Slowly
Like even it,
Has lost the will to live.
The dust rises barely above my ankles .
I remember when it would rise to my eyes and make me run along like someone chasing a lover
Now,
The town on who’s sleeves I put my heart is nothing more than a dusty antique in a forgotten basement.
There are no angry people
No happy people
Just bodies dragging themselves away from poverty.
I sit on a dilapidated staircase,
And swallow the pill of nostalgia,
As I watch myself,
Turn into just anoth

er body.
Do six feet even make a difference?

Elliepoet

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