Book 4
Poetry for the mature mind. 🔞
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Disappearing into thin air, You left behind no trace, A thorough cleanup of this space, Running your own little race, Without the slightest care.
Blowing out the candle though, Leaves behind the tiniest lead, The smell of smoke I heed, And patterns left behind I can read, And clear as footprints in the snow.
A haze created by the craze, Like a cigarette burning out, A moment you cannot doubt, If things should really be a bout, In the end you’re still in a daze.
