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Rose and Released.

Back then, it sucked,
but wasn't it just too funny?
Stalker Steve and
whiny Tuesdays
with girls on heroin in the bathrooms.
In our forced confines
we created something unique,
characters that can and
can't be replaced.
Then, like a bag too full of marbles
a rip disguised
as a gymnasium and hallway,
led us to the 'outside';
we are dispersed,
cast aside as delicately
as if a child had dropped us all
down million flights of stairs.
Is that child I see myself?
the one we left behind?
Or simply the one that allowed us to go rolling off,
occasionally colliding with one another
once again?
We rose, and
were released
but still inside the confines
we wonder what became of them,
in the bigger plot
of land,
what flower did they bloom,
and how unique can they be,  
within the forced confines?


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