J.P.J.H

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12.9.16                                                                 J.P.J.H

Stale traffic lights, warm summer nights. Too hot for the fireflies to guide you back, the vacant grass lot stands tall, and you're tired of taking the fall. 

You come here, in search for something you lack. You are a frequent visitor. Broken headlights, lighting your way, a place to keep your destructive thoughts at bay. your hideaway has taken a liking to your company, the grass resonates your sloppy, trudging foot tracks. 

She never told you; he did fight for your custody. He did not leave you behind. She is only a series of acts. 

You tell the clouds and the stars alike your secrets. The nights are often sleepless. You're a lost boy, only trying to find your way back home; to a home that never truly existed. It is only a dream that your mind endlessly roams.

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