Flash fiction and poetry, what is this, 2009? Hopefully I'm better now than I was then.
Grease burns and coffee stains
and white paint peels off the walls
I sit and stare
and wait for these old wounds to heal.
Young hearts burn and burst
and cry and break
grow and lust
and learn to ache.
And the walls still stand
as the door blows open
so I train my eyes
to tell comforting lies.
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