| I want to know where the summer ends
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| September came with oceans between words and sleep
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| September shed its skin of still hush, patient hands
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| Young men Edmonton bound with young wives
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| Edmonton bound
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| Head pressed against her chest
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| Bottles grow in the dirt and rest between your ribs
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| Still I toss and turn at night in a winter bed
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| While dreamcatchers spun in twine spin above my bed
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| You’ve been writing out the past couple hundred years for the middle class
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| About the god you found beneath your sheets
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| How she never could hold her drink
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| I won’t write a thing for you
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| And now I see you in the places I don’t believe exist
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| And can not face yet, can’t accept
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| Its something like the cold, uncatching words
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| We use to read to one another
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| October came in dingy scarfs, black shades
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| Gloves under beds with boyhood dreams
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| A razor blade drug in unsure lines after missing mass again and feeling fine
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| A rising fear of the afterlife
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| A growing knot in my spine from slouching towards recluse
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| Keep me awake at night
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| Do you hear a still, small voice or catching nothingness
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| When you pray for
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| Head clasped between my knees
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| The night before is pushing through my throat and down onto the floor
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| While you’re somewhere in between the warmth and frigid depth of his mind and
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| heart
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| November came and I never woke
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| Let me clarify, I tried to wake
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| But voices in my head said stay asleep. |
| Do you hear them too?
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| And now I see you in the places I don’t believe exist
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| And can not face yet, can’t accept
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| It’s something like the cold, uncatching words
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| We use to read to one another
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| We jumped a fence only to find that home wasn’t close at all
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| Our bodies became space-lost-ships like cosmonauts drunk and alone
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| From here it seems we’re doing fine
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| From here it seems we’re never coming home again
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| I’ll be there when you break and when you’re crumbling
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| When you crack, fall apart, don’t tell me you’re okay
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| Don’t tell me you’re okay
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| And now I see you in the places I don’t believe exist
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| As the winter Earth spins on its side
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| Hands under gloves cupped under heavy eyes
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| It’s something like the cold, uncatching words
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| We use to read to one another
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| December came without snow and the acute absence of me and you
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| And now I see you, now I understand
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| December became disingenuous the day you were born |