Two-ticket Escape

The ceiling of the pouring rain
Is up there on the floor of the gods.
I drag my luggage on the sand,
Carrying all of my understandings.

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We Got Time

I wrote the following poem a long time ago, during my time of depression. Things have changed since then. Anyway, how does this piece come up to the surface after all the time? When I was cleaning my room, I found the verses on a crumpled note. I think this was a ‘kinda’ OK poem so I want to share with y’all.

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