Who are these people
writing down in solitary ways?
Losing out on time
Months, years and pretty dates.
All purposeful writing
should end in a comma.
When she walks up to you
and pushes you into a coma.
Friends are long gone
making the best of the time.
But these park benches linger
witnessing this desolate crime.
Unbearably motivated
things will go out of hand
And like all manuscripts
end up in a strange land.
While sisters ponder
their brothers' wantonness.
And mothers wonder
the flash-pan brilliance.
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