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MIRRORS
Those dead guys are singing to me again...
Through radio speakers as ancient as I.
Stereophonic. Hypnotic.
The bottle of Chardonnay is half empty.
My memories, half full.
The Fear overtakes my breath.
Memories, only half full.
Half dead guys sing to me
through the Modesto haze.
Four hours to sleep as Putman's poetry
Crawls across my brain.
Turn it up!
Haggard - Hall - Hell.
The past crawls up my spine
with a knife in its teeth.
Whitley sings the soundtrack
as the walls crumble around my mind.
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Nightmares from the past,
Brings disturbance ringing in my ears,
Unseen voices terrifying my interest,
Whispering gesture
You would touch me in anger so
that I would cringe in fear.
That was so long ago; so
why do I sometimes still react
in that
My mother, my grandmothers, and others
Come to me mostly when I'm sleeping,
But sometimes when I'm driving,
And often when
Daddy,
Do you want to know
Why I hate you, and
Why is it I despise you so
I hear you screaming in my dead
Last knigh when the
MIRRORS
Those dead guys are singing to me again...
Through radio speakers as ancient as I.
Stereophonic. Hypnotic.
The bottle
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Poetry: Ghost from the past
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