Timid Changes To The Way We Survive

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Timid changes to the way we survive
Ducking our heads when the water finally rises
Perpetual fatigue ponders if we’re still alive
Each heartbeat wrapped within fervent surprises

Another day emerges from the absence of light
This mug of swill – my only source of heat
Creaking past the endless repetition of night
Punch drunk, but still standing; never admitting defeat

Maybe Those Were The Days

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Maybe those were the days
I wasn’t so perfect, structured or neat
Rebelling against all humanity
Couldn’t tell the difference in defeat
A crooked line to follow
A wrinkled brow upon the figurehead
Our dreams fractured when applied
Lost within reality’s pragmatism instead