November 2019
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To Make This House A Home
There’s nothing, that I can say, to make you not go. To make you come back, To make this house a home. But I’ll live,
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![door-image](http://lifeofadyingpoet.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/01/Entry-1024x306.jpg)
The Sinners and the Saints
The savior graces you, we were bound to lose. Each little fragment, of the broken past. Where has our kingdom gone? Mistaken where we’re from.
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Before I Part
I heard it on the speakers, late last night. Must we always, do what were told? Light a fire to lead the way. I boarded
![door-image](http://lifeofadyingpoet.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/01/Entry-1024x306.jpg)
At the Bottom of Everything
I put my things away. I remembered, all those things, you said to me, that digs a hole, straight through, the core of me. I
![door-image](http://lifeofadyingpoet.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/01/Entry-1024x306.jpg)
Lovesong
We float along. We’re always wading. Let’s build a house, before we’re fading. I might have some things wrong, but I’ll treat you right. Feels
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The Doppelgänger (Revisited)
Edited by Stephanie Bachman “You’re fired,” Harold, a seemingly successful business executive, said at a near yell. “You’re lazy and I can’t stand being in