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    Monday, April 26, 2010

    Holey Ghost

    4am and you’ve ripped up my scripts of dreams
    I feel like sitting in the middle of my mass of shreads
    Maybe I’ll make a snowangel in this white paper desert
    And make something beautiful out of this mess
    Most nights I sleep with my arms wrapped around myself
    To keep my heart from falling out of the hole in my chest while I sleep
    I can’t decide if it’s because youre not here or just your fault

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