i am back on these streets
under this lamplight feeling a familiar dread of this filthy place i swore i would never return perhaps an unrealistic vow, but at one time the feeble attempt to protect a soul so fragile perhaps she returns stronger better free there is nausea in the remembrance of each bend in the road the dim lights of houses i would never afford the busy chatter of people i would never know and yet i remember worst yet is that through the dark and rainy night i think this dirty city recognizes me too but she is stronger now she is better now she is free (to leave).
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about the writer.“Words are only postage stamps delivering the object for you to unwrap” (George Bernard Shaw) past tense.
January 2019
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