The Left Overs

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we aren't survivors

we are what's left

your abuse and neglect my siblings

and now my constant companions


perhaps there was some ancient pain you were trying to flood

some endless debt

some well long dry you were trying to renew

called 'youth' 'beauty' 'careless freedom'


we're the innocent bystanders

we are the wreckage that remains

the left overs


I roam the wastelands of my heart

there is neither foundation nor effigy

we aren't survivors

we are what's left

Misc. Poetry: The WastelandsWhere stories live. Discover now